Before the Music Dies: One Last Melody
by HannahTheFaithful
Summary: (Before the Music Dies Book Three) The drums of war have grown louder. With a new organization taking over the four-hundred seventh Games and two conspiracies on the rise, a storm is brewing over Panem, and it's only a matter of time before it breaks.
1. We Are the New Creators

**We Are the New Creators**

( **We Are the Chosen Ones)**

 _Lavender, Age 20, Head Gamemaker, Capitol_

I sat in my office in the Gamemaking Center and thought. In the last few months, so much had happened. We had, at this point, lost the war. But the Games would go on. I was terrified, working for District Fourteen, and on the Games I wasn't sure if I could do anymore…. But worst of all, so many of us were gone, Misty and Rissa and….

I took deep breaths to keep the tears back. I thought what I had been thinking for months: I had to focus on those of us that were alive. I had to keep us all that way. Even though I'd failed at it not once, not twice, but….

There were two more people I had to worry about now. Zeely and Laya, our new Gamemakers. Both were still older than me, Laya twenty-six, Zeely twenty-nine.

Laya was Thespian's little sister, who had changed so much, and I'd hired her without interview, because that had always been my plan should something happen.

Zeely I'd hired with interview, because I hadn't had a second backup plan. They were more outgoing than Laya, and while we all kind of knew Laya already, Zeely had almost fit in faster, willing to get into it with people, whether it was about their non-binary pronouns or whatever it might be, whereas Laya was more quiet and anxious.

We were all anxious lately though. We knew that this year, for the first time, there would be Capitol children in the arena. And there had been rumors in the Capitol that they might even expand the age range as far up as twenty-five, which had put Kaye and I in danger, and it wasn't like District Fourteen wouldn't dare to do it on purpose.

And that had made Kaye….

More deep breaths.

With District Fourteen running the Games, things would be different. Training would be extended and brutal, the tributes' scores based on real situations that would be televised as close to live as we ever got. Instead of interviews or opening ceremonies with individual attention, District Fourteen was giving the tributes—and us, instead of Opening Night—a "last night" party for all of them that was more a party for the Fourteen-approved citizens than for the tributes.

If only we were all here to see it.

 _Kaye. Kaye's gone._

The pain was more recent than it was for Misty and Rissa, and Kaye, well, Kaye was special. But she hadn't seen that. All she'd seen was that Misty and Rissa were gone, and Panem was taken over, and it was possible she or I could be going into the Games, at the time—and that wasn't even true—and that her parents hadn't loved her and the bullies hadn't loved her, either, and the mental health care system wasn't treating her depression properly, and she'd spiraled down, down, down….

Until, one morning, we found her on her bed, the euthanasia syringes she had for mutts empty next to her bedside, her arms spread like wings, like Rissa's had been.

I couldn't believe that this was Kaye's doing, that my first and best friend killed herself, until I'd heard Thespian say, _"Lav, honey, there's a note."_ I'd read it, and Kaye had said goodbye, that she loved us and that was why she did this, that she was sorry but we were better off without her, telling us that it wasn't us, it was her, and she loved us again, she loved us, she loved us, she loved us.

I thought about that, and prepared to face the day.

 **. . . . .**

"Our five victors plan fell through around this time last year," Aidan said to me later. It was around noon on a Monday, not long before the Victory Tour would begin. I was still in my office, alone with Aidan, talking about plans.

"Ah, yes," I agreed, fidgeting with my hair nervously. It felt too greasy, as usual, matted in my ponytail. The rest of my appearance was a wreck as well—bloodshot eyes ringed with dark circles, too pale, from exhaustion, with stress acne and worry lines; I wore a white polo shirt and khakis, not exactly the height of Capitol fashion. I didn't really care about any of that, but I wondered what the victors would think.

"Sassy was devastated when Sage died, same for Keith with Kenton; Trey's a traitor, and Kizzy is dead. Which leaves us with Litiea."

I nodded.

"I don't know exactly whose side she's on anymore, but she's done good work for us before. We'll keep her in mind." Aidan paused. "Meanwhile, we have the Victory Tour coming up. Have you sorted the details out?"

"As best I can," I said. "We worked out how to handle multiple victors, and arranged the speeches and parties so they'll do lots of… district socializing," I finished carefully. "As well as their families, who are going to be included in the Tour."

Aidan nodded this time. "And the tributes—victors now, I suppose—should be here for a meeting soon, so I'll leave you to it." She stood, and left before I could say goodbye, like so many others.

I told myself to stop thinking like that, and breathed more before going through some files, checking the security cameras on the lobby again out of anxiety that it would go back to its not-fixed-up state again. I saw the victors on that screen, so I headed down to one of the larger conference rooms.

There, the others had gathered, the victors still waiting out in the lobby. Thespian, Trace, Francisco, Ritter, Zeely, and Laya waited in the conference room. Everyone looked tired and stressed and sad, and I couldn't blame them, considering three of us had died as a result of stress among other factors, but I forced a smile and said, "The victors will be in here soon. Any last things to not say in front of them?"

"I have a lot of things to say not in front of kids," Thespian said. Laya nudged him.

"Anyone else?" I tried to joke.

"It'll be interesting to meet them," Zeely commented.

 _Interesting. More like "awkward"._ The victors didn't want to work with us, for obvious reasons. And we were working with the children we'd tried—and failed—to kill.

"Ah… yes," was what I said aloud. I tried to calm down about that, and about the fact that even with the Games six months away, this meeting seemed rather last minute, but District Fourteen had decided on the time, not us. There was only so much we could change at this point, but the victors' feedback would be valuable in the details.

 _How sick is that? Asking children I tortured about their worst nightmares, and using them on more kids…. Hell, I use my own worst nightmares for the arena, and most of them come from the Games in the first place…._

The sliding doors opened and the victors entered, the ones working with us, anyway. Aurelia and Evander, Belle, Henrik and Ikky.

I froze. I stammered for a second, and then finally got out, "Ah, welcome. I mean, sit, please." They did, at the far end of the table. On my left, going away from me, were Thespian, Laya, Ritter, Henrik and Ikky. On my right, going away from me again, were Zeely, Trace, Francisco, Aurelia, Evander, and Belle.

I sat at the head of the table and took a long sip of headache-healing peppermint tea before proceeding. "Ah, so, we gave you all some information before this meeting on our current arena plans." _Which they've been sworn to secrecy about._ "And we wanted to know what parts of the arena last year—I mean, the one you were in—you found most… effective."

I was met with blank stares from the victors. At least Trace and Thespian gave me encouraging nods.

 _Kaye chose to die rather than face the possibility of even being in the Games. Especially without Misty and Rissa for support. Especially under District Fourteen's rule. But that won't be an option for the new tributes, who'll be in those circumstances._

 _Kaye chose to die rather than face the guilt of creating these Games._

"So, ah," I started again, and tried to not let my voice shake, "what are your commentaries?"

The Careers, of course, cooperated first. "I figure night was the scariest for everyone else, since we got to hunt," Aurelia grinned. Yet I knew, all too well from experience, that there was something broken behind it, now.

Evander nodded in agreement, though he looked pale.

"I can't imagine facing it without an ally," said Henrik, when the silence was getting long.

"It felt so much worse as our alliance got smaller," Belle said quietly.

Of course, all of the remaining tributes had had allies at some point. I couldn't do much with the information of tributes being alone—we couldn't ban alliances—but the nighttime….

With changes to one section, and—

"Moving at night was the worst," Ikky said. "There were the Careers out, and you made it seem extra dangerous."

Of course I did. That was what I did, wasn't it? Make people afraid? I didn't want these kids to be afraid of me anymore. I was tired of people running away from me. I knew what it was like to be afraid, and I didn't want anyone else to feel like that. But that was my job. To make those in the arena afraid for the rest of their lives.

And the sick, dark, twisted part of my mind was spinning with ideas.

And I hated it.

"I always felt like I was moving into a trap," said Belle. "Especially when we got to the end of the arena."

"The sinkhole," Evander muttered.

I murdered one of Evander's friends in front of him. I wanted to apologize. But I couldn't. These kids, who had survived the arena, they were supposed to work with us now to put other kids through the same hell.

I wasn't sure what to say. But my mind kept spinning. Things getting worse as you went into the arena, but not wanting to stay in the center because of the vulnerability, the other tributes; darkness being mind-altering, scary….

The meeting didn't last very long. The victors left, and I debriefed the others—Gamemakers—about what the victors had said, and my ideas, which came up from some of the others first.

Ritter and Zeely voiced ideas for elements that could be moved around the arena; Thespian would plan them out, and Trace and Francisco agreed to work on the coding, Trace more excited about it. Laya quietly worked off of the darkness idea, and showed me a holographic idea of what she had in mind.

"It's perfect," I said, and tried to stop twirling my hair around my hand, tangling it further. "It combines the two ideas. But can you make it happen?"

"I think so," Laya said thoughtfully, shyly. "I'm glad you like it."

It really did take all of us to make the Games.

"I told you hiring my sister was a good idea, Lav," Thespian said jovially, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"I see," I said, and even smiled a little. "I think hiring Zeely was a good idea, too, if I can take credit for that one."

"Do I get any credit?" they asked.

"Of course," I said, and my smile widened. I reminded myself that I still had the others by my side, even with some of us gone. But as soon as I thought it, my smile faded again.

"Meeting dismissed," I muttered, and quickly left the room.

 **. . . . .**

 **Author's Note:** Welcome to _One Last Melody!_ Title chapter from "Place for Us" by Mikky Ekko. Also, a friendly reminder that the one-shot contest is still going! Thanks, all.


	2. When They Burn Our Houses Down

**When They Burn Our Houses Down  
(This Is What We'll Be, Oh, Glory)**

 _Ritter, Age 32, Gamemaker: Psychologist and Environmental Manager, Capitol_

The machines in the hospital room were beeping constantly, and it was really disrupting my focus. Thespian, Zeely, Francisco, Trace, and Laya were sitting in other places across the room, and Lavender sat on the hospital bed.

It had been a long night.

We'd been in a pre-Tour conference with some District Fourteen and Capitol officials the evening before, when Lavender had taken a sip of her drink and suddenly collapsed to the ground. We'd all rushed to the hospital, and Lavender was fine—but her drink had been poisoned. A weak one at that, and she hadn't drank enough of it for it to kill her, just enough to make her unconscious for the night, which, she joked, wasn't entirely a bad thing.

There was other news, though, that I was supposed to be the one to tell her, for some reason, but I hadn't yet.

Apparently whoever had tried to poison Lavender wasn't satisfied, and so they'd tried something else to get to us.

As if enough hadn't happened already. As if I weren't paranoid enough already.

The world had already taken Rissa, and I thought that would be enough pain for a lifetime. But instead, there were Misty and Kaye's deaths, and District Fourteen taking over, and the arena and Gamemaking Center being attacked months ago, and now Lavender almost dying and this other news.

The others were looking at me. Lavender had just woken up recently. "Uh, Lavender, there's some other news…" I started out loud.

Lavender looked at me too, now. When I trailed off, she said, quietly, "All of you are clearly alive. So, what happened?"

"Someone… they burned down all of our apartments."

"Naturally," said Lavender, deadpan.

"Um. I'm… sorry?"

"It's not your fault," she said dismissively.

This wasn't what I was expecting, and I was a psychologist.

"We'll get new ones," she said.

"That might be a problem."

"Why?" Back to deadpan.

"They… they also completely drained all of our bank accounts. We're, basically, homeless."

"Of course." Lavender's voice was still even. "So we'll stay in the Gamemaking Center. I'll talk to Aidan. It'll be fine."

We all looked at her.

"Excuse me for a moment." She got up, went into the bathroom attached to the hospital room, locked the door, and I heard muffled sobbing seconds later, and felt terrible.

 **. . . . .**

 _Elara Cerium, Age 34, Lead Conspirator Against the State of District Fourteen_

"What were you thinking, Galaxy?" It came out more of a demand for an answer than a gentle question. "You're putting yourself at so much risk. How did you even pull this off?"

"I got ahold of Litiea," said Galaxy. "I had her slip the poison into the Head Gamemaker's drink, and had some other connections take care of the apartments and bank accounts. The good news is, we're now well-funded."

I paused. "You know I don't approve of your half of this conspiracy," I said. "The politics are dangerous, if we can just help the people—"

"There are so many people who need help," said Galaxy, "that the only way to do anything is through grand political power."

"Selenia and Nash and Argo agree with me," I argued. "And we run this conspiracy. You might have your own sub-sector, but we're still in charge. And we welcome your input, but I can't approve of you going out on your own."

"We want the same end, just through different means," Galaxy replied calmly. "I have two of the former tributes, Henrik and Ikky, on my side, as well as Litiea."

"And we have Belle," I said. "I thought even that was a risk."

"I want to gain even more support."

"It's not worth it. Think of the cost-benefit here."

"But the main District Fourteen side, they have Trey, Saber and Delora, and the Mulish siblings, who seem to be gaining power, and most of the district. We need support, too," Galaxy insisted.

"And I need some of us to stay alive."

 **. . . . .**

 _Aidan, Age 42, President of Panem, Capitol_

I had gathered the victors—Aurelia, Evander, Belle, Henrik, and Ikky—plus their family members and friends that were able to understand—Dharma for Belle, Frederik, Desiree, and Georges for Henrik.

I updated them on what had happened with the Gamemakers, and continued, "As you know, our victors' jobs are to provide hope, loyalty, and proof of mercy to the districts. District Fourteen thinks we can't gain district support, and thinks that our mercy will make them seem stronger. So on the Victory Tour, you're all going to be doing a lot of socializing. We've prepared many things for you. Any questions?"

I received many shakes of heads.

"Very well. I'll be in touch with you all soon. You may go now."

So they did.

Shortly after, there was a knock on my open door—Lavender. "Come in."

She did, shutting the door, and sitting across the desk from me.

"I see you're out of the hospital."

"Yes."

"We're working on reconstructing your and the other Gamemakers' apartments," I said, "and recovering where the funds in your back accounts went to."

"Thank you." Her voice was carefully polite, as if I didn't know how the Gamemakers truly felt about the Games by this point.

"For now, I hear you're staying in the Gamemaking Center?"

"Ah, yes."

"And how are your new Gamemakers doing?"

"They're doing well," she said. "Zeely is close with Thespian and Trace, and Laya with Thespian, as her brother of course, and me… of course, everyone's as tight-knit as usual."

"Hmm. And do you trust them?"

"Of course," said Lavender. "I've come to trust them with my life, and the others', which matter more to me."

"They were there when you were poisoned."

"So were you," Lavender smiled.

"You've known me longer."

"And you knew Trey longer."

I tried not to sigh. "You should get back to them, then."

"I should." Lavender stood. "Thank you." So she left, and I started to prepare some final things for the Tour.

 **. . . . .**

 **Author's Note: Chapter title from "Let the Flames Begin" by Paramore.**


	3. To the Sound of an Enemy's Song

**To the Sound of an Enemy's Song**

 **(In a War That's Already Been Won)**

 _Ikky Delacroix, Age 16, District Nine, "Victor" of the 406_ _th_ _Hunger Games_

Our train zoomed away from the Capitol. Aurelia, Evander, Belle, Henrik and I were beginning our Victory Tour, with some family and friends with us. Aurelia and Evander's little sister, Caecilia. Belle's friend Dharma, and a girl who it'd been explained to me was Belle's daughter, Hope. Henrik's brother, Frederik, and his friends, Desiree and Georges.

Things were a little bit… complicated. Most of us victors had attempted to kill each other before, and now we were working together. And Henrik had explained to me more about the situation with his brother. His brother had had a crush on me. And I tried to not be freaked out by that. Desiree was in love with his brother. Henrik had previously had feelings for Desiree, but those had faded in light of, well… me.

Frederik had realized Desiree's feelings for him, and as his feelings for me were fading due to Henrik and I being… whatever we were, Frederik and Desiree had started a tentative relationship.

So things were slightly awkward between all of us from District Nine on the train, and between the victors, though at least I could avoid them, other than Henrik, of course.

The train was headed for District Eleven, where we'd start the Tour, going down the districts by number, then the Capitol, save for Twelve, Nine, and Two, which we would go to last, our own districts.

We'd gone over our poster-child jobs with the former President, who I'd tried to not at least scream at for trying to kill us in the arena.

"—At least we're out of that damned city for a bit," said Henrik, when we were alone in our room.

I nodded. I knew the Capitol had been the enemy before, but now it was most of Fourteen that seemed to be our real problem.

Then there was the conspiracy….

We'd also talked to Galaxy before we left, and she'd told us to gather all the information we could, do as we were told for now. I could do the first part. The second… we'd see.

"Ikky?"

Oh. I'd been too quiet. "Yeah. At least we're out of the city," I agreed.

Henrik looked at me and opened his arms to offer a hug, which I accepted. Henrik held me tight, drew back, kissed me, and said, "You know, I hate to say it, but you do look beautiful."

I flushed on instinct. "Why do you hate to say it?"

"Well, not that you didn't look beautiful covered in blood and sand or anything, but… the Capitol cleaned-up look is good on you, too."

We both laughed. "Thanks," I tried, and then a clichéd, "You don't look so bad, yourself."

Henrik smiled.

There was a knock on the door. I jumped and flinched. _Already not leaving us alone?_ I thought after.

"Come in," Henrik called reluctantly.

Belle opened the door and my body automatically went into fight mode upon seeing another tribute. The Cornucopia appeared as a backdrop behind her but faded quickly. I must've started to move because Henrik grabbed me before I could do anything. I flailed until he let go, but I didn't attack Belle.

Belle looked startled, getting ready to close the door. "Lunch is in five minutes," she said, and then left quickly.

I was breathing heavily, and Henrik soothed, "We're not in the arena anymore." I remembered that fact slowly as he let go of me and I also remembered: Belle was a victor now, and so were we.

"Let's just go to lunch," I said, thinking, _let's just get it over with._

So we went into the dining car, where the others were gathered. I had an even worse automatic mental response to Aurelia and Evander, as Careers, but I didn't act on it this time.

Also at the table were our family and friends, and mentors - Carter for District Two, Kalina for District Twelve, and Bryce for us. Our escorts, stylists and prep teams ate in a separate car since there were so many of us. This was the car for victors, I supposed, and those closest to us.

I felt sick but tried to eat anyway as we made awkward, polite conversation. Kalina took to the Careers over Belle right away, talking to Carter as well. It occurred to me that Aurelia and Evander, I'd seen in the recaps, had killed Kalina's other tribute, Gunner. Belle talked to Dharma and watched Hope play with Caecilia. Bryce talked to Henrik and I, with Henrik's friends and brother looking on, so at least we had fairly separate conversations.

"Well, welcome to victory," Bryce said early on, raising a glass to us.

Sarcasm, I hoped. I didn't feel like a victor.

"Yeah, to us," said Henrik flatly, and raised a glass half-heartedly. I did the same, and we drank. Whatever it was, it was sweet, and I thought of the Head Gamemaker being poisoned, and all I could think was, _it's drugged, it's drugged, it's poisoned, it's poisoned._ I held it in my mouth without swallowing, raced over to the trash can and spit it all out, a bit of vomit coming up with it from nerves. Everyone was looking at me.

"Ikky?" Henrik asked.

I looked at him. He'd swallowed, he'd swallowed it, he was going to die….

No. He wasn't dying.

The room swam out of focus for a moment, and then someone was right in front of me, trying to touch my face, and I screamed and started struggling until they stopped and stepped back, and I realized it was just Henrik. Trying to comfort me. And no one was trying to hurt us anymore.

But I couldn't believe that.

"I'm sorry," I got out. "I'm fine. I think I'm just going to lie down." I rushed from the car, back into the room I shared with Henrik, curled up on my bed, and cried, sobbing until I couldn't breathe, locking the door from the nightstand when Henrik knocked, because I didn't want him to see this, didn't want him there, because he was yet another reminder of being in the arena….

Eventually, I fell into a restless, nightmare-filled sleep.

 **. . . . .**

 _Evander D'Avranches, Age 18, District Two, "Victor" of the 406th Hunger Games_

When Henrik came back to lunch, everyone was oddly quiet. We'd wanted nothing more than to win, for maybe our whole lives, and yet, now, here we were, and most of us seemed miserable.

I'd never planned on making it out of that arena. I had no idea what to do now.

Aurelia and Kalina and Carter talked. I listened a bit, and observed how our sister, Caecilia, now eleven, still looked around eight and played with Hope, Belle's daughter, age two. Caecilia couldn't see her but seemed to know to be gentle with her.

"They're… cute," I observed aloud, to Belle.

She looked at me like she didn't know what to say. "Thanks," she tried.

"It's good they're both not the only non-victor district kid here."

Belle nodded.

My attempts at conversation weren't really going anywhere, and I couldn't exactly blame Belle, so I turned my attention back to Carter, Kalina, and, of course, Aurelia.

I was trying to get my brain to relax on the subject of my twin. She was fine. She was alive, safe, healthy, and… happy? She'd gotten everything she'd ever wanted, hadn't she? Had I? I hadn't thought about… I still wasn't… I wasn't meant to be a victor. I wasn't supposed to be here. But she was.

"I don't think I did too bad," said Carter, "getting two out of the arena in good condition."

He talked about us like we were animals, but I knew he was just bragging to Kalina, which seemed obnoxious to me, but….

"Well, I helped," said Aurelia.

 _And so did I,_ I couldn't help but think, then regretted it.

"And it wasn't like I was going to get Gunner out of there," said Kalina, and took a long sip of her drink that I was pretty sure was alcohol of some sort.

Gunner. He might have made it home if it weren't for me. If it weren't for Aurelia. If it weren't for all of us.

It was so strange that Saber and Delora weren't with us anymore. And the others, too, but they were dead….

"I don't blame you two," said Kalina. "Capitol needed a damn good show and all."

The older victors seemed very… hardened.

I just nodded, and the conversation continued. I tried to lighten it now and then, but Aurelia seemed happy and the older victors didn't seem to care, so I wasn't sure what purpose I was serving.

"I'm sure District Two must be proud to have two victors," said Kalina, sounding bitter.

"They are," Carter shot back. "And you got one too."

I couldn't quite tell the tone of the conversation.

"So many damn victors," said Aurelia.

"Plenty to go around," I said.

I was glad when lunch ended, and I asked Aurelia if she wanted to explore the train with me. She said yes, seeming reluctant, but I decided to take what I could get. We wandered from car to car, and talked.

"I don't know how we're supposed to work with these people," said Aurelia. "I don't trust them. They're from outer districts. They're not really on our side."

"Do you think Fourteen believes we'll ever take their side?"

"They expect us to be afraid. But they clearly don't know us, or at least me, very well."

We entered another train car, and I noticed it was stocked with range weapons and targets along the edges. Bows, knives, spears, tridents….

"This'll be a tribute train," said Aurelia. "They must want training to start early." She grinned at me. "Want to sharpen our skills?"

"You're on," I said as lightly as I could, and picked up a bow and quiver. I felt safer with it.

Aurelia picked up a handful of knives and said, "Must be like the hologram simulation room in the Training Center. Look." She pointed and my eyes followed to a settings touch screen. We went over, set it, and the room went dark, walls sliding across the edges of the train, blocking windows, targets, and weapons, as orange beams came to life, and the equally orange holograms of people carrying weapons appeared.

One raced towards Aurelia with a spear; she hit it with an overhand knife throw just as I let an arrow fly for it. A spear. My mind went to Delora. We'd all been prepared to kill each other at least once, Aurelia included… I never could have thought about killing her.

I started to panic, my breathing coming rapidly despite not moving that much, and I jumped as more threats appeared and I let arrows fly for everything in the room except for Aurelia and me. Violence wasn't my natural instinct, but being a Career, being in that hellish arena, had made it my instinct, and I couldn't breathe, the room was getting darker and darker and fuzzier, and I thought it was just me, the sounds were distant and hollow, and I felt phantom blades and hands touching me, and as I ducked under a holographic trident, _Troy, oh, great Panem, Troy_ , I didn't get back up. A hologram hit me this time and the lights came back on, the holograms fading, the walls moving back, and Aurelia looked down at me like I was out of my mind.

The light was too bright now. Aurelia's voice seemed so far away. I gasped for air but couldn't get any down, in a cold sweat. My heart wouldn't stop racing, racing, racing and I thought I would die, I felt sick and like I might faint, shaking violently.

"Ev?" Aurelia touched my shoulder and I jumped far away from her, landing with my hands behind me, and made a sound like a shriek. I was turning into the girl from District Nine. Ikky.

My nightmares looked like reality; I saw flashes of the real weapons that had been in the arena, and our old allies holding them. I saw Aurelia in danger and Aurelia trying to kill me and….

"Let's just go," she said harshly, and dragged me to my feet. So we left.

. . . . .

Author's Note: Chapter title from "Part II" by Paramore.


	4. Will They Sing About Me?

**Will They Sing About Me?**

 **(When I'm Dead and Gone)**

 _Belle Hatton, Age 17, District Twelve, "Victor" of the 406th Hunger Games_

We arrived in District Eleven, and despite the beauty of the district—contrasted by the harshness of the military presence—I felt sick. District Eleven… _Quinn_. Quinn with her nonsense songs and float-y nature, who I had let die. At least I'd avenged her death.

We were quickly shepherded into the Justice Building from the train, and I knew that I was the one to give our speech in this district. I looked at the cards again and again and tried to memorize them.

"And now we have our victors," I heard the District Eleven Mayor say.

The doors in front of us opened and we all—Aurelia, Evander, Henrik, Ikky, and me—walked out, me in front. I thought about last year's Victory Tour—Kizzy's. She was dead now, too.

I approached the microphone. "District Eleven," I began, and fidgeted with the cards nervously. "Your tributes were Quinn and Fall. Both were very young. But they were so brave. We salute their courage, and their sacrifice. It was the other tributes that made them fall, not the Capitol, who so graciously let us five live this year." I hated the words coming out of my mouth. "I'm sure it was an honor for them to represent this wonderful district." I paused, and switched to the next card. "Quinn was my ally, even before Evangaline and Jess. Because she was so good, and I wanted to take care of her. And I'm sorry that I didn't do a better job of it. But Quinn will live on in Panem's glory. As will Fall. Thank you."

There was uneasy applause, and we went back into the Justice Building, and I exhaled. Everything had gone smoothly. Now we just had a party tonight, and then we'd be off to District Ten, where we knew no one.

I spoke more in Districts Seven and Eight, for Jess and Evangaline. I was supposed to talk about how merciful the Capitol was, and how it was the tributes that made them fall, again, but I mostly cried. _"I couldn't save Jess either," I sobbed. "Just like Quinn and Evangaline. But all of them will live on in Panem's glory; thank you." The_ words _ended in a whimper._

 **. . . . .**

 _Aurelia D'Avranches, Age 18, District Two, "Victor" of the 406_ _th_ _Hunger Games_

In District Four, it was our turn. _"Delora was a valuable ally,"_ I began. _"But she wasn't loyal to the Capitol as we were."_ I smirked. _"Troy was young, and he was… sweet. But he wasn't strong enough, and that was his downfall."_

Evander spoke in District One. _"Sage and Jullius were strong warriors of the Capitol,"_ he said. _"They were loyal, and they were strong, and they were good allies… until the end. We salute their courage, and their sacrifice, and we honor them and this district, and they will live on. Thank you."_

And then, we were off to the Capitol, and all of us were relieved, for once as a group, because our socializing wasn't as important there.

The parties were amazing there, everything I could have ever dreamed of, but I was oddly looking forward to making our speech at home. We would be returning to the Capitol, of course, but to see District Two again… that had been part of my goal in those Games.

But first, we were off to Twelve. It really was pathetic, but the Twelve girl, Belle, was elated. She ran and hugged a bunch of people. She gave a rather rallying speech instead of blubbering. She led a bunch of celebrations in the Harvest Festival.

Then we were off to Nine. The District Nine tributes weren't quite as elated, but they were still obviously happy to be home, however temporarily. I was a bit jealous, to be honest.

But soon, we were in Two, and our very militant district suddenly seemed comforting. I was almost emotional, and that really wasn't like me, but Evander and Caecilia were even happier than I was. Our district was the one to truly get behind us and our cause, and I was again almost sad when we had to go back to the Capitol, though not as sad as I would have been if I'd had to go someplace like Twelve.

Back in the city, things were a little tense between all of us again. But that was nothing compared to the nation as the Reapings once again approached.

. . . . .

Author's Note: Short chapter to get us back to the story. Chapter title from "Scream My Name" by Tove Lo. Also, an important announcement: due to the sheer number of characters in this story, especially tributes, and a small amount of good tribute submissions by current readers, I have decided that only the following tributes will be featured in One Last Melody. They are: Saorise, Ivyta, Xandir, Voltair, Stitch, Len, Leander, Ruby, and Gabriel, and I'm very excited for you to meet all of them. Thank you!


	5. Though This Might Just Be the Ending

**Though This Might Just Be the Ending**

 **(Of the Life I Held so Dear)**

 _Saorise Tor, Age 17, District Two Female Tribute_

I was relieved to get home from work, because working as a stone quarrier with back issues on Reaping Day was terrible. It was what everyone in my family for generations had done, and that didn't make it any better. The other thing that didn't make it any better were the Careers. Those pampered, _arrogant,_ "entitled" fucking brats—

"Saorise," Dad greeted, pulling me into a hug even though I was all sweaty, and kissing my hair even though the sweat even got there, into the tangled ponytail of dirty blonde hair. I pulled back quickly, but at least the hug wasn't awkward, since he really wasn't much taller than I was—I was pretty tall, and strong, and I could show up those stupid Careers any day— "I washed your best clothes for the Reaping."

"Thanks, Dad," I muttered, trying to not be too bitter for once, and headed to the room I shared with my sister, Yvone, thirteen. She was sitting on her bed and crying, and since it was Reaping Day, I said, "Hey. Stop that. What's up?"

"Just the Careers," she mumbled, sniffling and rubbing at one eye with her fist. "Bullies as usual."

"It's 'cause you're smart," I said, and my hatred for those "special" tributes intensified, because Yvone had tried to kill herself before, and that meant those Careers had almost _killed_ my _sister,_ in addition to making my life miserable.

At least Yvone smiled for a moment. "Maybe."

"Hey," I said again, and crouched in front of her. "I'm gonna volunteer. You know that. And I'm going to make those Careers _pay._ "

Yvone nodded but seemed worried. I ruffled her hair and said, "Shoo," since she was feeling better. "I need to get dressed."

She laughed and left the room, so I shut the door and changed into what my dad considered my "best clothes", which were really worn down: a loose gray shirt, black jeans, a faded jacket also in gray, black boots, and an old blue wool scarf that my other sister, Siobani, had made me. She could irritate me, the typical terrified eleven year old, but she _was_ good at all that craftsy stuff. So the scarf would be my token. It matched my eyes—dark blue.

There was a knock on the door. I recognized it as my mother's tentative knock. "Come in," I said, dressed.

She entered slowly. She looked like me, I reflected, in small ways—sharp nose, thin eyes, thicker eyebrows, plump lips. "Are you sure you want to volunteer?" she asked, not subtlety at all.

"Yes," I said flatly.

"Why?"

"So I can make sure there's actually a good victor this year."

"I still don't understand… especially since my brother went off to those Games and never came back—"

"Mom," I said seriously, "it's a done deal."

"All right," she said, backing down easily. I smirked. She left.

And what I said was true. It really was a done deal. I was going to win these Games, and that was that.

 **. . . . .**

 _Marlene "Len" Eszes, Age 17, District Nine Female Tribute_

My boyfriend, Leander, was so simple, and so stupid, and so naïve. I had one goal: to win the Hunger Games. I wanted to get away from home, and have some excitement, a thrill. So I talked him into volunteering with me. I told him that last year, there was more than one winner, and we could always pull off a trick or talk the President into it—letting us both win.

That was all a lie, of course. But Leander was so insecure, and he wanted to believe, so he believed it. _"You'll become a famous musician in the Capitol,_ " I told him. _"Things are changing, Leander. Trust me in this. And anyway, it's better to die trying to have everything than to live such an empty life, don't you think?"_

It would be fun. He would help keep me alive, and then, when that purpose was done, I would off him.

I thought about that as I dressed for the Reaping, my big debut, in a pale green, spaghetti-strap dress, jewelry, and black lace flats. I looked _beautiful._ I'd look even better in the Capitol.

Some people said I looked creepy. Icy blue eyes, long, almost-white hair, ghostly pale skin. That probably sounded bad. Made me sound not human, but maybe it made me sound _better._ Because I _was better._

My face was thin, and I had soft features, thin lips, small nose, round eyes, small, curvy figure—innocent looking. It made people so much more prone to believing me while I manipulated them, and that was what mattered.

I headed into the main area of the house, where my father and sister were. My dad had somehow managed to lose both an arm and a leg in an accident, five years ago, and he liked to mope around being depressed about it. And my sister, Delia, was so… nice. So pure. I could somewhat sympathize with that. Pity, really, that she did so much for our family, and I pretended to give her love in return, when in reality… it was pity.

"You look so pretty, Marlene," she said, and hugged me. I didn't return it, and simply shrugged:

"Always do. And it's Len." I didn't really care about either, but wanted to debate. I said it playfully enough that it wouldn't upset her, because then I could keep up the façade.

"Sorry," Delia said, and I sighed. "Ready to go?"

"—I am," said my dad from behind me. Limping with his prosthetic leg, he came up to us, and said, "I'm so proud of you, Len. You'll bring this district great pride."

"Of course," I said, in a way that made it sound like that was my biggest concern.

So we headed out of the house for the Reaping, Delia talking the whole way. "You and Leander in the Games together—how romantic. But so tragic. I really hope you know what you're doing, sis."

"I do," I said, as if it were meant to be reassuring. And I really did know what I was doing.

I really did.

 **. . . . .**

 _Ivyta Fenn, Age 18, District Three Female Tribute_

All I did was pray at the Reaping. I prayed it wouldn't be me. And I prayed it wouldn't be Redival or Adaem, my two best friends. Adaem was like my little brother, and Redival, well… she might have said she was like my sister, but inside the privacy of my mind… she was much more. And not in a sibling way. I was so in love with her, and she was so perfect. I could never tell her. Redival was straight, and saying something would just ruin everything, cliché as it sounded.

So I prayed for the three of us as the first name—the girls' name—was called.

"Redival Blackwell!"

I had been so paranoid about that name being called that I thought it was in my head. But when I turned and saw the horrified look on Redival's face, I knew it was real.

But it couldn't be real, could it?

 _No, no, no, no, no._

Then I was screaming it. "NO! IT'S NOT HER! I—I VOLUNTEER! I _VOLUNTEEER!"_ My voice was crackling from screaming so loudly, and I was, above all, _angry,_ that the Capitol—that District Fourteen—would do this. I shoved my way into the aisle way before Redival could even move, and I looked back at her face—horrified.

I felt my own green eyes widen. I'd completely lost my calmness, if I had any in the first place.

"Come on up," said the Mayor, who was holding the Reaping, since the escort positions had been canceled by Fourteen.

I went up to the stage, and when asked my name, I said, "Ivyta Fenn," as calmly as I could.

I had to breathe. I had to stop being so _angry,_ and start thinking with my brain. I tried to direct that anger somewhere safer—to my mother. My mother who hated me, because when I was little I didn't resemble my father, so he said that she'd had an affair and had left. I wanted him to come back and save me from my mother.

They reaped the male tribute. It wasn't Adaem. My luck wasn't _that_ bad. I touched my necklace nervously, the fancy golden G-clef one that Redival had once given me. It hung in front of my purple t-shirt and jacket, which I wore with black pants. None of which really matched the red hair that hung about as far as the necklace, though I was tall. Reminded, I tried to stand up straight.

 _At least that's one part of you that's straight,_ said a voice from the back of my mind.

My oval face surely looked even more yellow-ish than usual with fear. I looked at Redival in the crowd. I loved her, and she could never love me the same way. And I was going to die for her. At least that might have made me worth something. I would die in Redival's name.

No. I couldn't think like that. I had to win.

I had to _win_ in her name.

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: So we have our first three Reapings. Chapter title from "Stand My Ground" by Within Temptation. Two more Reaping chapters, and then next chapters after that will be longer, more in-depth, covering the extended and televised training and scores. Any important parts missed from these chapters will be shown in flashbacks then. Thanks, all.**


	6. I Promised I Would Save You

**I Promised I Would Save You**

 **(But I Don't Know If I Will)**

 **. . . . .**

 _Leander Beattie, Age 16, District Nine Male Tribute_

I waited in the sixteen-year-old boys' section and wished I didn't stand out so much—too tall, too overweight—even if in reality it was only a little.

Our Reaping was being held by the two Nine victors from last year, seeing as the escort position had been canceled. In the districts were they didn't have someone from last year, they had the Mayor.

"Our female tribute will be—" began Henrik Armfeldt.

"I volunteer!" And I'd know that voice anywhere. It was Len. I was almost hoping that my girlfriend wouldn't go through with our volunteering plan, but she did, so that meant that I was. It was still a genius plan, I was just… nervous. But Len would protect me, and she all but skipped up to the stage. "I'm Len Eszes, and I'm going to be a victor of these Games."

"Welcome, Len," Henrik said stiffly. "Our male tribute will be—"

"I volunteer!" I called. It was too quiet. "I volunteer!"

"Two volunteers?" I heard one of the officials ask another.

I went up to the stage. "I'm Leander Beattie. And… I volunteer," I said again, completely unnecessarily.

"Welcome, Leander."

We all shook hands. "We now have our anthem," Henrik continued, and as the music played, I thought of everything I was leaving behind, for Len, for myself, for our future together. My parents, with their lack of ambition, as Len had pointed out to me. My brother, Ozzias, who probably had a future of his own, known as better than me at just about everything. My friend Eileen, who was like a sister to me.

I tugged on my old navy blue hat that my mother had given me, which would be my token, nervously, over my square forehead with the scar across it, enough that the hat almost covered my almond eyes. My token didn't really match my gray scale-and-brown outfit or my dark red hair, in a Caesar's cut.

As the anthem ended, we were led into the Justice Building. "Are you both expecting visitors?" asked Ikky Delacroix.

I nodded, and so did Len, who held my hand until we were guided to separate rooms. Alone, I looked around, telling myself over and over that soon, I'd be a famous musician in the Capitol, and I'd be with Len, safe and sound, as soon as the Games were over and her plan had worked.

And great Panem, I hoped it worked.

 **. . . . .**

 _Gabriel Hopwood, Age 18, District Twelve Male Tribute_

I waited for the girl's name to be called at the Reaping anxiously. This was it; just this Reaping. Then, my best friend, Ruby, and I could be done with the Reapings forever. For ourselves, anyway. But one day, my little niece Ellie who didn't even know yet why people disappeared every year, would have her name in that glass Reaping bowl.

I tried to not think about that. I just needed to get through the next few minutes, and that would be a huge weight off of me for the rest of my life.

 _Don't say my name. Don't say Ruby's name._ _Please, please, please, I'll do anything; just don't call either of us._

"Ruby Holmes!"

I felt like a hand had closed around my throat. I choked on nothing, and watched as Ruby, normally so loud, silently moved out of the section across from mine and into the aisle, then up to the stage. It happened in slow motion. I felt so sick, so sick, like the bile was in my throat already.

"Are there any volunteers?"

I made an instant decision. "I volunteer," I said, just loud enough to be heard. "As the male tribute."

Yes; this way, I could save Ruby, and I could save one boy who otherwise might have been in my place. I made my way out of the section, away from the crowd of people also wearing dark colors, mourning, with the Seam black hair, scarred olive skin, grey eyes, small builds, and I went up to the stage. "Gabriel Hopwood," I said when our now-mentor, Belle, asked my name.

I shook her hand, and then Ruby's, mouthing that it would be okay.

The anthem started to play, and I looked out at the crowd, at my little family. My sister, Tessa, who had taken care of me when the Capitol dragged our parents away to be turned into Avoxes. Her husband, Wyatt, who I didn't care for, and, holding their hands, Ellie.

" _The horn of plenty…._ "

Somehow the lyrics reminded me of the Cornucopia. The Capitol called giving us those supplies to fight to the death mercy. We thought of it as torture—killing other children for basic survival, only one of us able to come out and go home, to a not-very-nice home district, where we'd get a better life than we'd had before, but the others, they wouldn't, and that wasn't fair at all.

It really wasn't.

 **. . . . .**

 _Xandir Marks, Age 18, District Five Male Tribute_

I'd already managed to mess up. When they'd called my name at the Reaping, I'd just… I'd been so surprised and scared and angry and sad that I'd choked up. It had taken finding my boyfriend, Andar's, face in the crowd to get it together. The walk up to the stage, all of those eyes on me, had been painful. Awkward, especially with my height. But I held my head up, because despite my initial reaction, I'd already decided: I'd die with dignity.

If I had to die, that was.

And now, I was waiting to see Andar in the visiting room of District Five. I'd already seen my family—my religious father, and older brother, Kylish, the successful golden boy of the family who I somewhat aspired to be.

When Andar entered, I tried to not burst into tears again as he hugged me tight and I just tried to _breathe, breathe, breathe,_ like he told me to.

He smoothed down my hair, short as it was, auburn and messy, and my shirt, an off-white button-down. "It'll be okay," he said.

I nodded. It had to be; it _had_ to be.

"Hey, you can use your ring as your token, all right?" He held up my pale hand where I had the wooden ring he'd given me months ago, saying it would be an engagement ring… if we were allowed to get married.

I looked up at him, his eyes hazel like mine, as he released my hand and I caught myself before I just let it fall too quickly.

"I will, definitely," I said.

He kissed me, and where usually kissing him made me feel like everything was right, now it made everything feel _wrong,_ because everything we did, said, could be our last. Last kiss, last words.

"I love you," I got out, afraid that the Peacekeepers would come in any minute.

"I love you, too," he said. "We'll get you out of that arena together, okay? I'll do everything I can. Get you sponsors."

"Thank you," I whispered. "I'm so sorry—"

"—This isn't your fault, honey. It'll be fine, anyway."

"Okay."

"I'll miss you while you're gone, but you'll be back."

"I hope so."

"You will."

"I hope—"

"Xandir. You _will._ "

I nodded, still choked. I had to get myself together. I just had to survive. That was supposed to be easy, right? I just needed to _stay alive_ , the most basic of human functions. And then I would be back, back here in District Five with Andar.

The Peacekeepers knocked on the door. We kissed again, muttering _I love you, I love you more, I love you—_ until they dragged him out and he was gone, along with any happiness I had left in me.

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: So we have our next three Reapings. Chapter title from "Mayday" by Running the Risk. Just one more Reaping chapter to go. Please leave feedback, and thanks, everyone!**


	7. Think of All the Roads

**Think of All the Roads**

 **(Think of All Their Crossings)**

 **. . . . .**

 _Voltair Kalitlin, Age 15, District Seven Male Tribute_

I liked to think that I'd bounced back from being reaped decently well. I'd kept calm, on the outside, at least. But I'd been processing a lot of information, over the last few years, but especially today.

After the Reaping of the four-hundred fifth Games, I'd started pressing my mother for information. Because the girl that was reaped had the same last name as me, and looked like me—dark blonde hair, small, pale, the right features, but she had brown eyes instead of hazel—but I'd never known her. And my mother had finally told me the truth.

The girl's name was Kildaire Kalitlin. And she was my sister.

I'd been shocked, of course, but again had tried to not get angry or sad or scared. I just wanted to know more.

Kildaire had gone for a walk one day, when she was five and my mother— _our_ mother—was pregnant with me. And she'd seen our father be executed. He must have been a rebel, I assumed, or he did something else wrong—but now, with this war brewing, I suspected that it had something to do with District Fourteen.

But Kildaire—she had stopped talking, traumatized, and our mother had slowly convinced her that she had merely just been almost crushed by a fallen tree, and when Kildaire still never quite recovered, our mother relinquished her to the Community Home.

And then she'd been reaped. And I'd watched her die.

Since then, I'd been a bit obsessed, I reflected, as I watched District Seven fade away out the window of the train. I'd been badgering one of my older friends who'd known her about what she was like ever since those Games.

My friends. My best friend, my own age, and a girl a year younger who he always teased me about having a crush on. She was too good for this country, for Panem. Kildaire was, too, and look what happened to her.

I'd wanted her token to be mine, her beaded necklace, but my mother didn't have it anymore, so instead I took my father's wedding ring.

My mentor, Cypress, came up to me at the window. "Homesick?" she asked gently.

"No," I said, "not that." I told her about Kildaire.

She nodded wisely. "I wasn't Kildaire's mentor, but I remember her," she said. "She was a good kid."

I was surprised that she said that instead of something like "she was a brave and noble warrior" like the stiff mentors did. But "good kid" seemed like something that someone might say about me after the Games, whether I made it or not.

I just wanted to be alive to hear it.

 **. . . . .**

 _Ruby Holmes, Age 18, District Twelve Female Tribute_

I wasn't surprised when I was reaped. Of course they'd picked me. I was too outspoken, wasn't I? And the tesserae even if it wasn't rigged.

Yet, on the train, I just couldn't stop _crying._

Gabriel held me and told me that I'd be leaving that arena, not to worry, but of course I worried anyway. Because even if I did live, that meant that Gabriel wouldn't. My best friend since kindergarten, when I stole the green crayon he was using because he wasn't using it right.

"We'll figure this out," he said. "Let's go watch the other Reapings."

So we did. We met up with Belle, our mentor, and she watched the Reapings with us. "That Two girl—Saorise—is going to be a problem," she said. "Watch out for her. District Three girl, Ivyta, is a volunteer—looks like she knows the girl who was reaped, though. Boys from Five and Seven don't look like problems, neither does the girl from Eight… but, two volunteers from Nine. That's odd, and Nine can be dangerous. Look out for them."

I nodded. I needed to pay attention if I were ever going to make it back home, to my mother. Who'd even given me by district token—a butterfly bobby pin for my chin-length black hair. It occurred to me that Gabriel and I looked rather alike, Seam look, except I was smaller, at four-foot-ten, much as I hated to admit it.

"Everyone _could_ be a problem, couldn't they?" I asked.

"Well, yes," said Belle.

"So we shouldn't judge so quickly."

Belle sighed.

"It'll be good if they make the same judgments about us," Gabriel offered quietly.

"I guess," I muttered. "You know what? I just want to sleep."

"It's good to go into the arena well-rested," said Belle.

"Yeah; like that'll happen."

"She's trying to help us—" said Gabriel, but by then I was able to close the door to my room.

And I almost started crying again, but this time I stopped myself. I needed to keep it together… or _get_ it together. I had no problem standing up to Peacekeepers; surely other tributes would be easier.

Gabriel came into the room. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

"Maybe just until I fall asleep," I said.

He pulled a chair over next to the bed and sat with me and talked, holding my hand. "Tomorrow we start training already," he said. "We have more time than usual for it. We'll learn. It'll be fine. … It'll be just fine."

And so I fell asleep.

 **. . . . .**

 _Velvet "Stitch" Moore, Age 15, District Eight Female Tribute_

In the morning on the train, I knew that I couldn't focus on what could potentially happen, or what could have happened before, or on what did. I had to focus on _right now,_ this moment, and that was how I was going to get through these Games alive. The day before, I'd been in denial about what had happened, me being reaped, but today, I was ready to face it with a more practical mindset.

I hadn't talked much to anyone since the Reaping, not since my mother and father came to visit me, along with one of my "friends for convenience", who knew me from my side job like most people, my one beside working in the factory after school. I made knock-off Capitol clothes and essentials out of scraps, to help provide for my family, especially ever since I was seven, and my baby brother was born… who died three weeks later because he was too premature.

I fidgeted with my district token as we zoomed towards the Capitol, cursing myself for always having to have my hands busy. The small, patchwork doll that my mother made me, which I always used to sleep with until my first Reaping, where I started just keeping it by my bed. It was a little comforting as we entered the dark tunnel that led to the Capitol.

It occurred to me that I regretted that I wouldn't really have a stylist until before the last night party, because I'd been meaning to cut my hair, brown, and wanted it out of the way for training. It kept getting in my eyes—big and blue above my sharp cheekbones, splattered with freckles on pale skin. I supposed I could do it myself, but I didn't want to get in too much trouble for "not looking pretty" before I died… or at least, was thoroughly traumatized.

Trying to breathe, I thought about what I wanted to do in training. Get ahold of a knife to practice with—they were common in the arena and probably easy to learn to use. Learn what to eat, and almost more importantly, what not to, and learn some other good survival skills. I was fast already, being tall and skinny and agile, so that was in my favor.

We came out of the tunnel, and the light was almost blinding for a moment.

A voice on the loudspeaker said: " _Welcome to the Capitol."_

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: And so we have our last three "Reapings"! Chapter title from "You've Got Time" by Regina Spektor. Since Fourteen canceled the opening ceremonies, we're off to training! Please leave feedback, and thanks, all!**


	8. I Love the Way That Your Heart Breaks

**I Love the Way That Your Heart Breaks  
(With Every Injustice and Deadly Fate)**

 _Zeely, Age 29, Gamemaker: Muttations Specialist, Capitol_

"Natural" was what was in in the Capitol, for once, and so soon after the name-change trend, which, being trans, had been really convenient for me. The natural trend happened close to the Games every so often, as the Capitol crowds wanted to imitate the tributes. So there was a flurry of everyone removing their alterations, since we "had to keep up with the fashion" (which no one cared about, but we didn't want a news scandal).

Natural facial features, lack of tattoos—except for Trace, she still had an open/closed enso and quote on her left/right wrist. Natural hair colors and styles (black and straight with bangs for Thespian, Trace, and Francisco, Trace's longer, blonde and curly for Lavender, reddish-brown and messy for Ritter, brown and straight with bangs for Laya, and short and red for me). Natural eye colors (brown for Thespian, Trace, Francisco, and Lavender, blue for me, green for Ritter, gray for Laya). Natural skin colors, though none of us had had that altered before. All of us were pretty pale from lack of sleep, save the darker-skinned Trace, Francisco and Thespian.

I'd taken a while to catch on to the way that our group worked. But the social dynamic had been pretty shaken before I got there. Lavender and Ritter were especially heartbroken by Kaye and Rissa's deaths, respectively, and both especially by Misty's. So they'd become close recently. Trace and Thespian were the best of friends, and I was the third point on the triangle we now formed. Laya occasionally got sucked in, being Thespian's sister, and I was close to her, too, as well as Thespian.

Trace was another story—she was in a relationship with Francisco, formerly exclusive, which changed to "open" the day that I was hired, unbeknownst to me until later. We'd also formed a relationship, me and Trace, similar to her and Francisco's, something queerplatonic with certainly sexual elements, but it was all complicated (to me) but simple at the same time (to everyone else). Trace said it was the autism, not in an ableist way, just an explanatory. And that part made sense to me.

It was partly why I sometimes preferred the company of animals, like my service dog or even the arena mutts, to people. But not always, necessarily.

At the moment I felt swarmed by people, but still somehow lonely, sitting with the others and looking down on the room as all of the tributes entered the training gym. Trying to relax, I took two pieces of strawberry gum out of my bag, folded them in half, and started to chew them as I read the "fun facts" on the wrapper.

 _Everyone's tongue print is different! There are around 60,000 miles of blood vessels in the human body!_

I thought, _Well, duh,_ but still put the wrappers into my current, smaller bag of saved wrappers, fun facts printed on all of them as well as a _certified vegan_ stamp. My favorites in the bag included one that read _About one percent of people are ambidextrous!,_ which I was, one on hemophilia and one on asthma, both of which I had, which just made me more glad I wasn't in the arena; but my favorites of all, the facts on harmonicas and xylophones; playing them was a special interest of mine.

I'd known all of those facts beforehand, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy seeing them on the wrapper.

"—Looks like everyone's here," Lavender said, cutting into my thoughts. "I should give the opening spiel." She stood, and approached the microphone, tapped on it, cleared her throat, and began: "Welcome." The tributes went quiet. "I have a few announcements to make. Firstly, each of you has a desk in your tribute quarters, and on that desk is a game called Stratagem, which you are required to play. After training, you can pull up the application for further instructions.

" _Almost exactly what she said last year,"_ Thespian whispered—as much as he ever whispered—to me. _"Look how much else has changed, huh?"_

I nodded, my eyes on the Capitol tributes below us, standing out in the crowd, looking especially nervous.

"Secondly, your official training scores are going to be the average of a score for each day of the six days of training—extended—and a weighted score for the seventh day, in which you will participate in televised, real-life scenarios.

"Thirdly, our training stations have been organized by specialty. Combat stations are located directly beneath us, with a simulation room off of this one. Survival stations are on the opposite wall; fitness stations are to your right, agility stations are located to your left; there's a track and obstacle course in the adjacent room closer to the elevators, and a pool in the adjacent room further from the elevators. These rooms will be monitored via cameras."

Lavender took in a breath. "That will be all. Happy Hunger Games," she said bitterly, "and may the odds be ever in your favor."

She turned the microphone off, which was relieving to me, I hated its static, and activated the force field's mirror so the tributes couldn't see us, but we could see them, and sat down, dropping her head into her hands. "I just want to give them a fighting chance," she said quietly.

"No matter what chances they get, there's still only one of them coming out," said Ritter, squeezing Lavender's shoulder.

"But some of them have no chance at that. Look at the Capitol kids. Look at the Eleven kids. Don't they deserve the same playing field? If training helps level it out, then I want us to do all we can."

"What are we supposed to do?" Ritter continued questioning. "We hired the best instructors, have the best equipment, extended time…."

"I know. Maybe if… if we considered higher scores for the non-Career districts."

"Wouldn't that be rigging it?"

"Officially, no," said Lavender, and, quieter, "For us, yes. If the other districts had higher scores, and the Careers lower, if there was more of an average and fewer outliers, then the sponsors might spread out a bit more, level the playing field."

"Why are we taking the Careers' chance away?" asked Trace. "I don't like them either, but… we can't save them all. Why not focus on just a few?"

"Because the Careers love these Games," said Lavender. "They do the same thing we do, except they _love_ it and we hate ourselves." She sighed. "I'll think about it."

Most of us nodded, and then settled into watching the tributes. I understood Lavender's point—some of the tributes were just so sad, I wanted to race downstairs and help them. Help them hold the sword the right way, or adjust their aim. I actually did know a lot about weapons; I'd taken part in countless reenactments when I traveled from arena to arena.

That was a story all its own. I was raised by a single mother, and when I went to a summer camp at an old arena when I was fourteen, the summer before I started high school, my mother passed away. I didn't want to go to the orphanage, so I talked my two partners at the time—also each other's partners—into running away with me. It was easy enough. One had terrible parents, and the other was easy to convince.

I felt bad about it, though I didn't force them into anything, to going, or to staying with me. We all loved each other, and that was what kept us going. First we ran off with the money we had, all coming from relatively wealthy families, and with the train pass that I'd won in a raffle at camp, inspiring us to ride the rails from arena to arena to arena, even taking my dog along with us, spending most of our money, which I got out of people, on the traveling and the trains, which we just about lived in.

A few months before I applied to college, I split off from them. I stayed in the Capitol, earned a GED, applied to college with financial aid—full scholarship after an IQ test—and I was accepted, so I started training for my future job as a Gamemaker, after all that arena traveling. And seven years later, I finally got that job.

And here I was, an exhausted, stressed, depressed, and apparently rebellious… mess.

 **. . . . .**

 **Author's Note: A little interlude before we start training proper. Let me know what you think, please and thank you!**


	9. I Just Know There's No Escape Now

**I Just Know There's No Escape Now**

 **(Once It Sets Its Eyes on You)**

 _Ivyta Fenn, Age 18, District Three Female Tribute_

After the Head Gamemaker's speech, I evaluated the training room. I needed to learn how to use a weapon—and fast. So I headed towards the wall in front of me, lined with combat stations. I looked around—there were the more rare weapons, and the more common ones. If I used an uncommon one, I'd have to get very good with it before the Gamemakers would put it in the arena for me. As that was unlikely, I headed towards the more common weapons.

They were divided by ranged and close-ranged. I didn't think I could be that close to another child as I killed them, so I drifted over towards the ranged.

 _No. I need to stop thinking about the killing. I need to think about Redival._ Redival, who I loved so much, romantically and platonically, even if she didn't return the first, and who I'd volunteered for.

I had to get back to her. I _had_ to.

I looked at what weapons looked easiest to use, and the least scary. The axes looked huge and awkward; the knives were small and seemed too easy to drop on myself; the spears were so long; the blowguns also seemed easy to use incorrectly; the slingshot, maybe, and then there was the archery station.

I decided to head there.

"Welcome," said the instructor. "Here to learn how to use a bow?"

"No, I'm here to learn how to use a knife," I joked lightly.

"Wrong station, kid. But I'm guessing that was sarcasm. So, do you know your dominant eye?"

"My right," I said.

"And you're right-handed?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, so you're going to hold the bow in your left hand—see the handle? And pull back the bowstring with your right hand." He demonstrated, and handed me a bow and quiver. "There's other gear you can use, but they're not necessary, and you won't necessarily have them in the arena."

I nodded. That seemed practical.

"Also—quiver is more useful around your waist, not on your back."

It made sense to me, so I moved the quiver to tie around my waist, the arrows pointed downwards in it by my right side.

"Now, correct shooting stance. Perpendicular to the target, feet shoulder-width apart, left side towards the target."

I stood like that, and he said, "Now, you nock the arrow. Point the bow towards the ground, put the shaft of the arrow on the arrow rest by the handle, and then hook the end of the arrow onto the bowstring, below the little nock ring, so that the odd feather out points away from the bow."

It was a load of gibberish to me, and I wasn't that concerned about the terms, but more about how this would help me stay alive. He helped me do as he said.

"Now, there are a few ways to draw back the bowstring." He rambled for a bit, and the one that sounded the most comfortable was to have my middle three fingers below the arrow. So I positioned my hands, and he said, "Now, raise and draw the bow. Draw the string back towards the right corner of your mouth."

I did. I was worried about the bowstring hitting me.

I was really not cut out for the Hunger Games.

"Now, you're going to aim—"

My arm was shaking. A loose strand of red hair tickled my cheek.

"—and let go, and then finish the shoulder rotation. Now."

Relieved, I aimed quickly and let go of the string, bringing my shoulder back. The arrow hit the edge of the target, beyond the rings. I frowned.

"That's okay; it's a good start. You just need more practice."

So I shot arrows for as long as I could, but my shoulders and arms were aching. It must have been about an hour. I got a little better, but I wasn't sure if I would retain the skill set. So I bid the instructor farewell, said that I'd be back, and decided to try weapons out later and focus on survival skills now.

Then I tried out camouflage, and did so horribly at it that I quickly moved on. I had less than an hour left until lunch—not enough time to try swimming, and I was too tired to go back to weapons. I decided to gather some data on how I did with the lower body fitness machines, so I headed over there, and got on an elliptical, where my feet were on two separate platforms that I moved awkwardly in a half-running, half-biking sort of motion, holding onto handlebars attached by long poles to each platform.

But I tired quickly, my stomach cramping, and I frowned at myself, feeling like I shouldn't have been so tired. I realized that I was a brain-fighter, not a physical one, and decided to push through some more stations before lunch, then hit the survival skills afterwards—swimming, which I expected to fail at, among others, and then more weapons and hunting stations.

I moved on to a leg extension machine, where I was again in an awkward, curled up position and had to push a weighted platform out with my legs, the weight adjustable. I had it on a fairly low setting, but I was worried that instead of building muscle before the Games, I would just wear myself out.

Tired from that position, I tried a treadmill, and didn't fall off of it as I thought I would, but still tired quickly, faster than from the leg extension, even on a slow setting. So I tried a leg press—sitting and lifting a bar with my shins, again weighted and adjustable. But I got paranoid that it would break my legs.

Lunchtime came, and I headed eagerly to the cafeteria, ready to eat and regain my strength to face the afternoon, and the weeks ahead. But when I got to the cafeteria, instead of seeing food laid out, there were Fourteen officials gruffly leading the way out of the Training Center.

All they said was, "We have a ceremony for you to attend."

 **. . . . .**

 **Author's Note: As we begin training, there are some twists coming up…. Chapter title last chapter was from "Again" by Flyleaf, and this chapter was again from "Stand My Ground" by Within Temptation. Let me know what you think in a review, please and thank you!**


	10. Speak Louder Than the Words Before You

**Speak Louder Than the Words Before You**

 **(And Give Them Meaning No One Else Has Found)**

 _Ruby Holmes, Age 18, District Twelve Female Tribute_

Us tributes, along with just about everyone else in the city, it seemed, were led to the City Circle, us behind a force field, apparently, just in front of the Training Center. On the President's Balcony stood the Minister of District Fourteen, Atlas Flint. Next to him were the Deputy, Pax Callisto, the President, Aidan, and the Head Gamemaker, Lavender.

Kneeling, bound, in front of them, was a woman I didn't particularly recognize, at gunpoint.

 _What… what is happening?_

"We have gathered you here today," began the Minister, "for a televised execution."

In hindsight, that seemed obvious, but my stomach twisted nonetheless. I looked at Gabriel, next to me, who grasped my hand all that much tighter.

"This woman, Elara Cerium, has proved herself a traitor to the great State of District Fourteen," the Minister continued slowly, disgust in his voice. "She has been charged with conspiracy, with aiding rebels, with resisting arrest, and with withholding information."

I still felt as if I was going to throw up, but the feeling was worse now. What had they done to her? What kind of torture and other horrible things? And "withholding information"… apparently, they'd given up. There was no one else with her. She hadn't given any names.

How brave, I thought, this woman—Elara—had to be, and strong.

And now we were going to watch her die.

They positioned her in a guillotine also on the balcony, and I almost cried out something before Gabriel noticed and clapped a hand over my mouth. Wise move, I thought.

Elara, on the other hand, seemed very… calm. _She knew this day was coming,_ I thought. _And she rebelled anyway._ I found myself aspiring to be like her, but aspiring to be like a woman who I was about to watch be beheaded seemed… wrong.

But if I only had a week or so to live anyways….

"Do you have any last words?" the Minister asked Elara, taunting.

" _This conspiracy is bigger than you, or me, or anyone—"_

The Minister slammed the guillotine, and Elara's head rolled down and across the balcony, leaving a little trail of blood.

I couldn't help but gasp for air, and even the old Panem officials—Aidan and Lavender—turned away. I retched onto the sidewalk, but nothing came up and that just made me feel even worse, so I choked and Gabriel held my hair out of my face, until I calmed and stopped.

Grabbing Gabriel and tugging him close, I hissed into his ear, " _We have to help those other conspirators."_

Gabriel looked at me like I'd gone out of my mind. We were escorted back into the Training Center for lunch, as if any of us could eat after what we'd just witnessed.

 _Belle,_ my mind yelled suddenly. Our mentor. She'd been to District Fourteen, surely she knew how we could help. Surely she was on the side of these conspirators, and if not, what were they going to do? Send us into the Games?

They were already doing that. And we'd done nothing. Yet.

"I'm going to talk to Belle," I told Gabriel slowly as we re-entered the cafeteria. "Do you want to come with me?"

That was it. That simple, casual, _Do you want to come with me?_ veiled such a big question. Gabriel knew that. _Do you want to risk our lives and sanity to help these people?_

Gabriel didn't even say yes. He just nodded, and we went towards the elevators and hit the button for the Twelve floor. There, we found Belle.

"Why aren't you at training?" she asked, voice suspicious but gentle.

"We wanted to talk to you," I said. "We have… some questions about what just happened."

Belle sighed, but nodded, and said, "I know where we can talk." She took us to a room, said an odd word that I could only assume was some kind of code, and I heard some clicking noises before she gestured for me to speak.

"Elara said there was a larger conspiracy," I blurted out. "I want to know about it. I want… _I want to help."_

Belle took a breath in and said, "And Gabriel?"

"I want to help, too," he said, sounding reluctant, and I felt guilty.

"Yes," Belle said slowly, "there is a larger conspiracy. There are really two sides of it." She explained, there being Elara's side of the conspiracy, who wanted to help the innocent, and a woman named Galaxy's side of the conspiracy, who wanted to seize political power to end the Games. "I suspect that Galaxy will be taking over Elara's half now that she's… gone. Yes, I was a part of Elara's half. Ikky and Henrik—the District Nine mentors—are a part of Galaxy's side, as well."

"What can we do?" I was taking in a lot of information, but that was the most pressing question on my mind.

"Survive," Belle said simply. "The more victors that represent the side of the Capitol, and the conspiracy and even Fourteen and the districts, who want the Games to end, the better off we are. Stir up as much trouble as you can without being obvious. I'll do what I can to see if I can get more than one tribute out again. I think the Gamemakers are giving up, too, and even the President. But don't get yourselves killed… too soon."

I swallowed. It occurred to me that even if I won the Games, at this point, I would still lose Gabriel, and I could still die, myself. But I'd made my choice. I was a rebel now, and I was going to help end this war, Panem help me.

 **. . . . .**

 **Author's Note: Chapter title from "This is the New Year" by A Great Big World. Please leave feedback in a review; thank you!**


	11. Courage Was Contagious

**Courage Was Contagious**

 **(Confidence Was Key)**

 **. . . . .**

 _Galaxy Price, Lead District Fourteen Conspirator_

I spoke with Belle Hatton on the first day of training. She said that she would join my side of the conspiracy, now the only conspiracy, against the Capitol, against District Fourteen, along with both of her tributes—Ruby and Gabriel.

I also spoke with another victor—Litiea Hellion, who, in less polite words, said she was in as well. Ikky and Henrik were still in. Now came the harder—and riskier—parts.

Convincing everyone else that I could.

I started with the easiest prey. The other victors. The ones who had experienced the horrors of the Games firsthand. The fragile, broken former tributes. Delora was somewhat easily convinced. Saber went along with her after a while. Trey, with them, much more skeptically.

 _We must take down District Fourteen. We must take down the Capitol. We must end these Games._

Aurelia and Evander D'Avranches were harder. They were Careers, loyal to the mainstream, to the Capitol. The others had been on a rebellious side to begin with. But I convinced Evander, and he convinced Aurelia.

 _We must take down District Fourteen. We must take down the Capitol. We must end these Games._

Finally, I set my will on my desk before going down, down, down, on the elevator of the Training Center. I knocked on the door that led onto the Gamemakers' balcony.

Answering it was a confused-sounding, broken young girl who I felt _sorry_ for at this point. To think I'd ever feel sorry, even want to form an alliance with, the Head Gamemaker, was a remarkable thing. "Could I get a word alone?" I asked.

"Like hell you will," I heard from behind her. I tried to place the voice. I wasn't intimately acquainted with the Gamemakers, but I'd done some observing, if you will, and placed it as Ritter.

I paused. I wasn't sure what to say. Talking to one person was much less of a risk than talking to the group at large, even though I needed them all involved at some point.

"We left Misty alone," Lavender said, so quietly, and her voice shook and was almost a whimper even though it sounded obvious that she was trying to not have it be so. "We left Rissa alone. We left Kaye alone. Now we stick together."

I nodded. "We'll speak here then, but we'll need privacy."

"It's just the Gamemakers here," Lavender assured me, and then said some sort of nonsense code, and I heard clicking. "We're the only ones who'll hear."

"Very well," I said. I decided that based on what I'd heard from the group, being frank was the very best approach.

"What do you want?" I heard someone ask, Ritter again, I presumed.

"I want you to help me overthrow the Capitol and District Fourteen," I said flatly, and let myself blink innocently and tilt my head to the side.

"Yeah, you and everyone else," was pretty much the last response that I was expecting. "Next request?"

"Francisco," I heard Lavender scold, presumably the one who had spoken.

"Let me elaborate," I said, before Lavender responded to me directly. I spoke briefly of the conspiracy and its long history, of my part in it, and our goals. To end the Hunger Games.

"You want us to quit our day jobs and play conspirators?" one, Thespian, asked. "I always knew I would get that part! Damn ye high school directors!"

" _Thespian,_ " Lavender ground out this time.

These people were bitter. There was no denying that. So I said, "No, I don't want any of you to quit your jobs. Quite the opposite actually. It's imperative that you don't."

"What would you want us to do?" Lavender asked finally.

"I want you to rile the districts," I said. "Take the attention away from the district rivalries, and direct all their anger at, supposedly, you. At the Capitol. Unite them. Throw everything you have at the tributes instead of letting them kill each other. And no, I don't believe there's a way to have more than one victor. Twenty-five children will die in the coming weeks. You will kill most of them. But they will make sure that no child ever suffers like that again, if this all goes properly."

"So why won't the districts execute us if they win the war?" Lavender asked.

"I will reveal at that point, when it's safe, that you were on my side all along, and I plan to be in a great position of power."

"Who else is in?"

"Are you?"

I heard silence, and then, seven times, "Yes."

So I told them. I needed their trust for the next part. "But," I said, "for now, there's just one more person I need out of the way. And I can't get close enough to them for it to work. Lavender, it'll have to be you, it has to be someone they trust."

"If it's someone outside of this room and the people we care about, I'll kill anyone to end these Games," Lavender said. "Look what they did to Kaye. To Rissa. Even to Misty. I'm not going to let any of us hurt like that again. I'm not going to let any more of us die. If any harm comes to the other Gamemakers, I'd get your affairs in order."

"Understood," I said. "I need Aidan dead."

"If she can't be convinced," said Lavender.

"She can't, I'm sure of it." I reached into my pocket, felt for the vial, and held it out to Lavender, who took it. "This should do the trick. Get it in her drink. As soon as possible. Don't get caught."

"Understood."

"Good. We'll be in touch." I left the room.

And that night, the news rang through Panem. The President was dead, the position cut. And there was no killer found.

 **. . . . .**

 **Author's Note: Chapter title from "From The Ground Up" by Sleeping At Last. Please let me know what you think in a review!**


	12. Remember All Their Faces

**Remember All Their Faces**

 **(Remember All Their Voices)**

 **. . . . .**

 _Laya, Age 26, Gamemaker: Meteorologist, Capitol_

Training day two. The former lead conspirator of District Fourteen was dead. The President was dead. We were all now conspirators.

My head spun. I fell back on what I'd always believed, on what some people called _fatalism_ and _solipsism,_ thinking that maybe none of this was real, it was all just _ideas_ and ideas came from the mind, and I couldn't access anyone else's, so _my_ mind, so maybe that was all that existed somehow, and maybe that seemed snobby but I couldn't wrap my head around anything else. And the other side, that I was going so crazy, spinning so out of control, that all of this just had to happen, that what happened would, that I had no control over what came next, not really, what was meant to be was meant to be, and what wasn't, wasn't.

But I had to know how everything turned out. Before, I hadn't felt that way. I had just figured that it would all happen and I would experience and everything would be okay, or I would die, and that would end it in some level of peace. But now… now I had other things to worry about besides death. The thought of living without the other Gamemakers was actually unthinkable. And now, we were all putting our lives on the line.

I looked around the balcony. Thespian was making conversation with Trace, who sat between Francisco and Zeely, about what would happen on the last day of training. Zeely jumped into it, but Francisco was mostly silent, watching the tributes.

Lavender sat a bit away from them, discussing something with Ritter that I couldn't really hear, but seemed to be about what was happening below. I paced around the center of the balcony and watched the others and the training.

Saorise got into it with the Careers again when they headed towards the same station at the same time. It was odd to see a tribute from District Two be anti-Career, but Saorise had made that abundantly clear in what we'd seen of her so far, even in, originally, fighting with her mentor, Aurelia, and in beating up the Career who was supposed to volunteer when she came to visit after the Reaping. An instructor made sure there was no big fight this time.

The District Nine pair split up, the boy, Leander, going for weapons in an uncharacteristic move, and the girl, Len, going for fire making… I would've expected it to be the other way around. Len was vicious, but Leander didn't see that. Maybe it was part of the act.

The pair from Twelve, Ruby and Gabriel, who I knew were on "our" side now, tried out some fighting stations. Gabriel fidgeted with the pink elastic his sister had given him after the Reaping.

The boy from Five, Xandir, was finally making progress at the rope station. I felt sorry for him.

The boy from Seven, Voltair, had gone to one of the rooms we monitored on cameras, so I didn't focus on him as much, but Francisco seemed to be watching those cameras. I felt sorry for Voltair too. I knew that his father had been killed for working with District Fourteen, and his sister had seen it and never said another word, until "we" killed her.

I did a quick check-in of locating all of the tributes, and then went over and sat next to Zeely. "Finally joining us?" they asked.

"I guess so," I said quietly.

"It's okay, sis," Thespian said, and I didn't assume what he was talking about, but I did assume it was a lie.

 **. . . . .**

 **Author's Note: Chapter title again from "You've Got Time" by Regina Spektor. Short chapter to catch up with some people and give a Gamemaker's perspective after recent events.**


	13. They Turned Our Skeletons To Wood

**They Turned Our Skeletons To Wood  
(And Scattered Matches Underfoot)**

 _A Third-Person Training Montage_

 **. . . . .**

 _Saorise Tor, Age 17, District Two Female Tribute_

Saorise put her all into the practice fight with the ax station instructor, fighting with a tomahawk and her own strength. Hooking the blade around the instructor's ax's handle, attempting to disarm them. Pressing with all her might. Winning the fight, she demanded, "Are you even trying?"

Those Careers would have nothing on her, she decided, looking at the intimidated looks on their faces as they "subtly" watched from the swords station. They were all going to die, preferably at her hand, begging for her mercy, which she would not grant them.

Because those Careers had been her bullies for her whole life, and her sisters' bullies.

And now, she was going to be theirs.

 **. . . . .**

 _Xandir Marks, Age 18, District Five Male Tribute_

On training day four, Xandir timidly stuck by the ropes station and thought of Andar, his boyfriend back home. He felt lonely here, all on his own, surrounded by people soon to be trying to kill him, in a strange city, just trying to get by.

Tears sprung to his eyes unbidden as he moved to the "next-door" station for making a fire. He was having no luck at it, even less than he did with the ropes, until the girl from District Three sat next to him and started to help. "I'm Ivyta," she said. "I volunteered for my friend, Redival."

"And you're in love with her?" he asked.

"How did you know?"

"My boyfriend taught me to have a gay radar. He had some clever word for it."

Ivyta smiled and held out her hand. "Friends?"

 **. . . . .**

 _Voltair Kalitlin, Age 15, District Seven Male Tribute_

Voltair was seeking out the instructors for training that had been there for a while, the ones from the traditional stations, and asking questions. "Do you know my sister?" he'd ask quietly.

 _Unlikely,_ they'd scoff.

"Her name was Kildaire," he offered, at the knife station, the agility stations, the survival stations, until finally, at the edible plants station, he got a nod.

"She allied with Kyler and Charity here. Didn't say a word. Just followed them and took a poisonous plant out of Kyler's pile."

"Really?"

Another nod, and he asked more questions. "I don't want to bother you," he said. "I just want to know."

"It's not like I knew her, but… I think she was a good kid. They all were."

 **. . . . .**

 _Velvet "Stitch" Moore, Age 15, District Eight Female Tribute_

Stitch walked away from the edible plants station as the instructor started to focus on the Seven boy, and started to focus on some other basic skills, and knife-fighting. Velvet Moore was nothing if not practical.

She memorized most of the things she needed to know easily, just like a fabric pattern. And that night, she went to her room and played the Stratagem game. It asked her a lot of questions and gave a lot of scenarios about allies that night.

 _I'd have to consider,_ she thought, and aloud to the game, she said so, and, "It would depend on the person. I don't know if I can trust anyone in these Games."

 **. . . . .**

 _Marlene "Len" Eszes, Age 17, District Nine Female Tribute_

Training day six, and Len felt like she was dragging Leander along. He'd gotten through learning the weapons, and now he seemed to be done with them, as if he wasn't as fascinated as she was. She compromised and got him to the snares station.

"We're gonna find a way for us both to get out," she lied to him easily, in a whisper. "I promise."

He nodded, and she smiled and kissed his cheek. He was just one more sacrifice to be made for the entertainment of the masses, and herself—all part of her plan to get away from home and have some glory.

 **. . . . .**

 **Author's Note: Chapter title from "The World Without" by A Fine Frenzy.**


	14. Now Through the Streets We Run

**Author's Note: Chapter title from "Place For Us" by Mikky Ekko. Also, switching to third-person without point of view labels.**

 **. . . . .**

 **Now Through the Streets We Run  
(Eyes Wild Like the Sun)**

"Hello, hello, _hello_ to all of our darling twenty-six tributes, and hello to all of those watching," Thespian, in Games Announcer mode, said into the microphone. He was safe—safe as any of them ever were—in the repaired Gamemaking Center.

The tributes, on the other hand, were in a domed mini-arena in the Capitol for the last day of training. They could hear every word being said, though the arena was almost completely dark as they stood on the tribute plates.

"This is a televised training event, which will, along with the previous days and Stratagem, determine the final tribute scores. There is a backpack for each of you with your name on it—quite literally—hidden in this arena. Your job is to find it. The faster you do, the higher your score, and the sooner you'll be released to the Training Center. But it won't be quite as easy as it sounds, but we've included some supplies for you. You'll see why in a minute. The event will begin in thirty seconds. Thirty. Twenty-nine."

 _"This is insane," said Ritter, away from a microphone. "I don't know why Fourteen's making us do this. Why potentially lose tributes before the Games?"_

In the arena, Ruby and Gabriel from the Seam of District Twelve looked at each other nervously. Len of District Nine had her eyes set on the small Cornucopia in the middle of the circle; her district partner and boyfriend, Leander, had his eyes on her. Ivyta of District Three, red hair bright in the dark like her ally's, looked for Xandir from Five and gestured between the two of them, then shrugged exaggeratedly. He nodded. They would look together. Voltair from Seven, Stitch from Eight, and Saorise from Two were evaluating the arena.

"Twenty."

Voltair wondered if they would pull something with the countdown like they did last year in the actual Games.

"Fifteen."

Stitch was thinking, thinking, thinking—the weapons were there, obviously they needed them….

"Ten."

Saorise looked around at the Careers and wondered what would happen if she took out any _now._

"Five."

And in the relative darkness, a thin ring of very constrained fog, no more than three feet high, rose in a circle just beyond the tribute plates and glowed bright white.

 _It has to be poisoned, or acid… why is it so dark….?_

"Four. Three. Two. One."

 _Gong._

 **. . .**

Ruby and Gabriel ran for first each other, but then Ruby was shouting, "Get weapons!", so they ran into the center of the circle. Ruby reached a belt with two scabbards with two swords, secured it around her, and drew both, handing one to Gabriel. It was more of a toss, really, and Gabriel let out a sound like a yelp and backed away from it, letting it clatter to the ground. He'd just bent to retrieve it when another tribute darted in between them, grabbing it and taking off quickly while Gabriel was still considering what to do.

"This isn't the time to be polite; this is the time to _survive!"_ Ruby was frustrated. She grabbed his arm; "Just come on."

They reached the tribute plates again before realizing the dilemma—the fog—and stumbling to a halt. Ruby watched someone else try to run through it, emerging on the other side but falling, their skin turning dark red.

A section opened, unannounced, at the other end of the circle. "Run!"

They sprinted for the opening, just barely made it through before it closed. "Our bags are probably further from our tribute plates. That way!"

They ran again, weaving through the trees that seemed to come out of nowhere in the dark, getting darker as they got away from the glow of the fog and the center of the arena. "You look up and left, I'll look down and right." Ruby was panting as they slowed down.

So they searched.

 **. . .**

Stitch had escaped the center with a knife by doing a running-start flip she'd learned in training over the acid. The arena was very small, but it was also large enough to make the search hard. She decided to get to the edge and make a spiral going inwards, and as she reached the edge, she turned around to find a large cat—a cougar?—facing her, except that its fur, like the acid, glowed white.

Stitch hesitated but as she did the cougar pounced, and she ducked and shoved her knife out in front of her, looking up as it scraped the cougar's skin, making crimson blood shine against the white fur.

Angered, the cougar went to swipe at her; Stitch jumped back, and this time buried her knife in the cougar's skull. She yanked it out with some trouble, and the mutt fell to the ground. She ran on.

 **. . .**

Ivyta had sprinted into the center of the circle with Xandir, grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows, slinging it over her shoulder before loading her bow, and taking off in the direction Xandir was in, where he'd grabbed what looked like a short club. "Where should we start?" he asked.

"Wherever they let us out," said Ivyta. "Has to be a clue."

They circled the edge, staying out of the way of everyone as best they could—the tributes weren't really fighting each other very much, but some were vying for weapons.

Finally a little section opened up, and they raced out.

"So, are we actually allies—?"

"—Not the time," Ivyta cut in, looking up at the trees, scurrying around to look at the ground. "But yes. … I can't see anything." Suddenly light almost blinded her. "What the hell—?" Xandir shrugged as he turned the flashlight—what she'd thought was the club—on. "Way to give away our location, but, brilliant," she said. "Just, shine it through the bottom of your shirt or something." Xandir did.

"I see letters," she said, and brushed some pine needles aside to read the also-glowing white words. "District Twelve Male." She swore before looking up.

"Let's go deeper into the woods; they want this to be hard, right?" Xandir asked.

They moved on. Ivyta said, "Let me climb and see if I can see anything." She looped the bow around her arm and used both hands to climb up the tallest tree nearby, paranoid about getting splinters but deciding that really wasn't her biggest problem at the moment.

She looked around. "Cluster of something over there—" she pointed. "Let's go."

 **. . .**

Voltair had gotten into a scuffle with another tribute over an ax. They'd both been tugging on the handle, avoiding the blade, jolting around, shuffling around each other until Voltair finally yanked the handle free, grabbed it sloppily and _ran,_ hazel eyes wide, through the current section opening.

He used it to brush branches out of his way, ducking under them as well, as he headed into the woods, just trying to get any other tributes off his trail. He was used to this sort of environment from Seven, but not with enemies, not in the dark. _Is this how Kildaire felt?_

He, like Ivyta had, climbed and looked around, but didn't see anything, so he climbed down and went off to the left to climb and look around again.

 **. . .**

Len had shoved everyone out of her way who tried to get between her and a weapon. She raced around the Cornucopia, to the other side where instead of weapons she didn't really know how to use—tridents and spears and whatnot—there were slingshots and scythes. She grabbed one of each and handed the slingshot and ammunition to Leander, who had followed and watched her back.

It took them too long to get out of the circle, Len attempting to swipe at the fog with her scythe to see if it did something, but it didn't.

When they did get out, Len said, "Find me another tribute who's been out here a while."

Leander raced ahead of her, and Len kept up, until Leander came across the small boy from Six and grabbed him, feeling awkward and guilty. Len raced forward and held her scythe to the boy's throat. "What have you seen?" she demanded.

"I can't find my bag—"

"What about ours?"

"I—I saw one Nine one—it was over that way—"

"Show us."

Leander let the boy go, and he scurried ahead, the end of Len's scythe close behind him. "Here," he said, and pointed to a bag that said _District Nine Female._

"Did you see the other?"

"N-no."

"Go, then. Get out of my sight." The boy sprinted away. A door opened from the edge of the arena, which they were close to, someone behind it saying, "Len, this way."

"Good luck," she said to Leander, forcing a smile before exiting the mini arena.

 **. . .**

Saorise had picked fights with the Careers, grabbing weapons away from them until she had a stockpile, ditching them in the woods in various places until she just had what she wanted. She'd found her bag by now, and had exited the mini-arena to be escorted to the Training Center to see the scores.

Comfortable on the District Two floor, she watched the scores come up on the television once everyone was out and ready.

 _Saorise Tor, District Two Female Tribute –_ 9

She smirked to herself and watched the other scores. _Ivyta Fenn, District Three Female Tribute – 7. Xandir Marks, District Five Male Tribute – 6. Voltair Kalitlin, District Seven Male Tribute – 6. Velvet "Stitch" More, District Eight Female Tribute – 6. Marlene "Len" Eszes, Disrict Nine Female Tribute – 9. Leander Beattie, District Nine Male Tribute – 8. Ruby Holmes, District Twelve Female Tribute – 7. Gabriel Hopwood, District Twelve Male Tribute – 6._

Then, Aurelia and Evander stood and said to her and her district partner, "Come on, time to get ready for the last night party."


	15. Just Let the Music Play

**Author's Note: Chapter title from "Don't Stop the Music".**

 **. . . . .**

 **Just Let the Music Play  
(Please Don't Stop the Music)**

 **. . . . .**

"Well, look at the not-so-happy couple," Trey Dracco cooed sarcastically at Saber and Delora. His adopted son scowled, as did said son's girlfriend. "Just be glad they didn't go heavy on the Capitol alterations before 'natural' became the new thing, kids." He gestured to the fancy outfits they donned for the last night party. "And be glad they didn't whore you out, either. Now let's go find those tributes. I think Ivyta went to find Xandir. Hey, they're like the opposite of you, huh? The gay best friends, I hear?"

.

The Gamemakers had made sure that everything would run as smoothly as possible, but mostly, they were busy dreading the morning. Lavender stood on the stage, ready to make the opening speech—as ready as she ever was for public speaking—and looked up into the lights, a bad decision, she reflected, blinded. But she was looking up and praying to whatever might be out there that this year, she wouldn't lose any more loved ones. Just twenty-three children.

.

Belle, of District Twelve, with her tributes Ruby and Gabriel, hand in hand, entered the main room of the party. She was trying to fix Ruby's hair as Ruby brushed her off. "Be responsible," said Belle. "It might be the last party of your life, but it won't be if you fight well in the morning."

.

The Two twins—Aurelia and Evander—entered with their tributes. Saorise was hissing at Aurelia over having to "play nice with the sponsors", even though Aurelia was sympathetic for once. Saorise would soon face the same hell that she had.

.

Henrik and Ikky came in with "lovebird tributes" Len and Leander. Len was all charm, smiling and waving at the sponsors, her smile all acid. Leander, awkward with one arm around Len, one arm waving, wondered about his time slot for being on stage with his guitar. That would calm his nerves.

.

Stitch and Voltair each came in with their own tribute teams. Stitch was looking around the room to find the most generous, useful sponsors. Voltair was looking for anyone who might have once known his sister, poor, poor Kildaire.

.

"Welcome," said the Head Gamemaker, Lavender, into the microphone as the crowd settled in. She gave a little spiel about where everything was, told everyone to have a good time, _happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor_.

And so began the last night before the Games.

.

Ivyta and Xandir headed for the dance floor, showing off their moves. Stitch moved towards the sponsors. Voltair headed towards some of the victors for his questions. Ruby and Gabriel moved in on the food to enjoy the luxury. Len and Leander went to get ready for their duet. Saorise tried to leave, got dragged back by her mentors, and then went for the alcohol to "get through the party".

.

" _Just come get love now, tonight, baby… tonight!"_ Ivyta and Xandir sang to the songs they danced to, learning and catching onto the words quickly—the perks of Districts Three and Five. Xandir couldn't really dance, nor sing, but Ivyta had pumped him up for the party earlier.

Working up a sweat, barely noticing because of the fun they were having, they were only interrupted by their mentors—Saber, and Ella—whose daughter had died almost two years ago to the day—coming over. "Drink," Saber said, shoving a cup into Ivyta's hand, after the two tributes had been dragged off to the side.

"What's in it?"

"No alcohol, just energy enhancing shit. Drink it."

So Ivyta did. Xandir drank what Ella gave him, surprised she was paying attention to him at all—and promptly choked on it. "What is that?"

"What I was having," Ella smirked, as she and Saber stalked off.

Xandir put the cup down and Ivyta offered some of her drink, which he took. "Thanks." He looked around. "Can we—can we talk somewhere?"

Ivyta nodded, and they weaved their way completely off of the dance floor, wandering around, trying to find a quiet place, until finally they found a closet, which was deemed "ironically acceptable". At least, the door between them and the room dulled the roaring noise.

"What did you want to say?"

"We're allies?" he asked. "Like, really allies?"

"Yeah," she said. "Did you not want to be?"

"No, no, I do, I do," he said quickly. "I just… why me?"

Ivyta shrugged. "You seem nice enough."

"But I have no skills," he babbled, "I can't do anything for you—"

"It'll keep either of us from being alone," she snapped, but then her expression softened. "We won't die alone. Isn't that enough?"

.

Len and Leander, the "quaint couple from Nine", went up to the stage with the band, but stood in the front. Len took a microphone and Leander positioned himself with his guitar, plugged in. The DJ introduced them, and then they started their song.

Len's character was a narcissist almost in love—apt, but Leander didn't know that _. "Oh, why is it that you love me?"_ she almost purred into the microphone _. "Is it my hair, my eyes, my smile? Or is it… just… me?"_ And then the song began proper.

After, they left the stage for that time, and went into the crowd who'd gathered around the stage stairs. "Oh, you were _wonderful_!" said one of the sponsors, and in a whisper added, "Especially you, Len."

She brushed them off as if in humility, but thinking, _I know._

They finally found their way back into the general crowd. Leander was glowing after all of his hopes rising—of being in the Capitol as a victor and musician, with Len, his love, if she got them both out like she promised. Leander whispered, "I have a surprise for you," and took her hand, led her to the side room that Ivyta and Xandir hadn't found.

Leander got down on one knee, pulling a box out of his suit pocket and opening it, holding it out to Len. "Marlene Eszes, you know I don't like to be too cliché, but you… are the love of my life," he said. "And I want the honor of you marrying me. So, Len." He couldn't contain his grin. "Will you marry me?"

 _Perfect,_ she thought. _He's falling for the act completely._ "Of course," she smiled, and he slipped the ring on her finger, put the box away, stood, and kissed her, twirling her around and making her almost-white hair and dress spin.

.

Voltair was also looking for answers, but to different questions. He wasn't very outgoing, but he knew who might have answers for him, so those were the people he approached. Until finally, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around to find a Gamemaker, Thespian, standing there. Out of pure instinct, forgetting courtesy, he recoiled.

"Hey, it's okay, kid," said Thespian, letting go of him. "Just wanted to chat."

Voltair's heart pounded. This couldn't be good.

"I worked the year your sister was in those Games. That's what you're talking to people about, isn't it?"

Voltair nodded slowly.

"I remember watching her in training. The plants station, of course, where she met her allies. I'm guessing you heard that story?"

Voltair nodded again.

"I looked over the tapes again to remember, thought I'd talk to you. I know what it's like to want answers you can't get. She worked with the swords, snares, knots, and fishhooks. Practical things, but the weapon was Kyler's thing. Kildaire wasn't violent. But she was brave."

"Really?" Voltair asked.

"Of course," Thespian scoffed. "You don't charge the Careers largely outnumbered if you're a coward. And she wasn't stupid either. Like I said, she was brave. Must be genetic, I can see you've got it in you, too, kid."

Oddly dumbstruck, talking to a Gamemaker about his sister, dead partially to their fault, Voltair couldn't help but ask, "Really?" again.

"Yeah." Thespian clapped him on the back. "Relax now. Go enjoy the party."

"Thank you." So Voltair, thinking that he'd gotten a bit of the closure he sought, went to "enjoy the party" and look for other key players in the game but outside of the arena.

.

Aurelia and Evander finally let Saorise leave after she drunkenly decked the boy from District One. Aurelia escorted her back to their floor, and demanded, "What the hell was that? Do you know what kind of trouble you could be in right now?"

"So I can murder him in the morning, but I can't punch him tonight?"

"No, you can't punch him tonight. Save it for the arena." Aurelia went to sweep out of the room.

"—Well it's not _my_ fault that they've stolen the spotlight my whole life!" Saorise shouted after her.

"This isn't about the 'spotlight'," Aurelia laughed harshly. "You don't want it. That's why you tried to ditch the party."

"I meant back in Two."

"The only way to get the spotlight in Two is to _be a Career._ I know. I was one."

"Was? What happened?"

"The fucking Games happened. You saw them. Sage tried to kill us, just to _stay alive,_ and we tortured and murdered her, one of our own. Cama _helped_ us, and we killed her without even looking. Troy was just a kid, and we left him behind to die a horrible death. We tortured the boy from Twelve just because he didn't run. I killed the two kids from Five for no real reason. Back then, it was for _fun._ To prove I was _better._ Because that's what everyone from Two wants, to be _better._ So that's what you have to do. You want to be better? You want to be above the Careers? Then prove it. And prove it in a way that fucking _matters_." And Aurelia left.

Saorise looked at the elevator doors as they closed behind her mentor. Aurelia was right. Was she really any better than the Careers, if she just wanted to kill? _Prove it in a way that matters._ Was pacifism really the way to go?

It was the night before the Games, and suddenly, she had questions instead of demands.

.

Ruby and Gabriel left early enough. They were enjoying the party food leftovers, lounging on couches on the District Twelve floor by the windows and looking out at the twinkling lights of the city. Gabriel was quiet, reflecting on how peaceful the city as a whole seemed, when it was on the brink of war. Ruby talked strategy for the morning.

Belle entered. "I have some instructions for you," she said.

"Bring it," said Ruby. Gabriel gripped her hand protectively.

Belle said a nonsense code and then said quietly, "Galaxy told the Gamemakers to throw everything they have at you instead of letting the tributes kill each other, to get the districts angry at the Capitol and Fourteen instead of each other. So _look out for the arena._ And kill only when necessary."

"I wasn't exactly planning on killing for sport," said Ruby.

"So that won't be a problem," said Gabriel.

"The arena will be," said Belle, taking on a sudden intensity. "Don't trust anything. I've been in that arena. Trust me, I am one of the only people who will ever understand. _Everything is trying to kill you_. That's what it's made for."

"Understood," said Gabriel.

"Try to sleep," Belle said more gently. "It'll be a long night otherwise."

.

Stitch ate relatively healthily that night, in quantity and quality, stayed away from the alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs offered. She drank water. She did as she was told, the useful advice from the good sponsors and more, the few she sought out. And then she tried to sleep.

She did not sleep.

She shook and trembled, instead. She did not cry. She would always be proud that she did not cry. But a little whimper escaped her lips every now and then anyway.

In the morning, she jumped at the knock on her door, her mind half in the arena already. She ate breakfast on the hovercraft and urged herself to not throw it all up, and in her launch room, dressed carefully, checking that everything fit, always the Eight tribute.

Standard undergarments and socks, black leather combat boots with fake laces, mid-calf high. Pants that went over the boots without bagging, pockets but nothing else, also black, made of what seemed like bamboo fabric. Black cotton t-shirt, short-sleeved, black polyester jacket. She put all of it on, zipped up the jacket, which also had pockets, and a hood.

 _Why all the black?_

She re-put her hair up into a ponytail, a brown curtain.

" _All tributes, please take your places on your launch plates. The glass will go up and the plates will rise in thirty seconds. Thank you."_

She hugged her stylist lightly, and went to stand on her tribute plate. The glass went up. The plate began to rise.

.

 _This will not be a happy Hunger Games._

The Gamemakers had everything ready, perfect.

 _There never was a happy Games, after all._

The victors watched the arena's cameras as the music swelled.

 _And there never will be._

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the four-hundred seventh _Hunger GAMES…_ begin!"


	16. Though They Seem to Darken as I Go

**Author's Note: Chapter title from "Dark Days" by Punch Brothers.**

 **. . . . .**

 **Though They Seem to Darken as I Go**

 **(Till It Lights the Way Back Home)**

 **. . . . .**

"Welcome to the Arena of _Eternal Night_."

The arena was dark. That was the first thing every tribute noticed. They'd all expected to rise from the dim lighting of "the stockyards" into the pitch black of the tunnel, and emerge into bright sunlight. But there was no sunlight. There was a moon, and stars, which provided very, very dim lighting. But it was somehow worse than nighttime in the most rural parts of the districts. More dangerous things were lurking, here.

The tributes stood on their tribute plates in a circle around the Cornucopia. Though typically golden, this year, the Cornucopia was a faint, off-white, almost silver color, shimmering in the starlight and giving off a slight glow.

Beyond the circle began woods, the pine scent and cool air drifting in. The forest floor seemed to be mostly moss, and some worried about sinking into it; others celebrated the idea of quiet hunting. Trees shot up from the ground, plenty tall surrounding the Cornucopia, but getting taller… taller… taller, the further away from the Cornucopia they went. Unnaturally tall, though at the ends of the arena it was almost pitch black. The forest, getting taller the deeper you went, also got _darker_ as you went.

There were a few sparkling dots of light coming from within the trees, that some tributes were aiming their way toward. But they were scarce. They were likely, some reflected, from some of the same sources that light came from at the Cornucopia—large, shiny gems implanted in the ground, but here, every five feet or so. They appeared to be almost backlit by a white light.

Then, the same white acid fog from the mini-arena earlier began to shoot up in a straight line, about a yard high, from what seemed like a random pattern of them, spreading across the circle. A pause, then another spreading, almost fractal-like pattern.

And, _of course,_ thought some, a ring of acid fog of the same height rose up gradually around the circle of tributes. Just like in the "arena" earlier.

 _We had warning._

"Ten."

Ivyta Fenn leaned as far as she dared to peer around the Cornucopia for Xandir Marks. She couldn't quite see him. Her only friend in this arena was out of sight. She positioned herself to run for the other side of the circle. She'd do anything for her friends—that was what got her here, wasn't it? Volunteering for an unrequited love…. It would have been a much more beautiful story, she thought, if her life and sanity weren't on the line.

"Nine."

Xandir was looking for Ivyta and couldn't quite see her, either. In fact, all of the alliances seemed to be split up. The Careers were split almost perfectly, so that the tributes were divided into five sections by them. Ivyta was across the circle from him. It seemed much further now than it did on the television, especially in the dark with acid-shooting gems in the way. He wondered about Andar, watching from home.

"Eight."

Len Eszes examined the Capitol engagement ring on her finger, her new district token, before looking and just barely seeing Leander Beattie on the other side of the Cornucopia. She blew a kiss his way with false sweetness and then got ready to sprint for a weapon.

"Seven."

Len didn't see it, but Leander pretended to catch the kiss, pressing it to his lips. He also got ready to run, in between the nearest Careers and Len.

"Six."

Voltair Kalitlin had already mapped the way through the gems in front of his tribute plate, how to weave through them, grab a knapsack—as a backup option, a different bag nearby—and then take off into the woods when a section opened up. He wasn't going to die of the same mistake his sister had made—charging into a battle outnumbered.

"Five."

Stitch Moore was thinking along the same lines. She'd figured out a way to get a sleeping bag pack, a slingshot, a small container of water—there was a larger one closer to her, but she couldn't run so quickly with it—and a box of crackers, then get _out,_ as soon as they let her _._ She told herself to be brave in a crisis—but this wasn't so much a crisis, as an annual tradition….

"Four."

Saorise Tor had her eyes set on an ax and the Careers' heads. She would figure out the rest later. She'd had a bit of a revelation the night before—she did want to be _better_ than the Careers, but she didn't want to out-moral them. She wanted to _outsmart_ them, on a grand scale, and so that meant offing the ones in this hellish arena, then getting out, back into Panem, to overthrow their precious Capitol as a victor.

"Three."

Ruby Holmes looked across the circle for Gabriel Hopwood. Oh, how she longed to be in kindergarten with him again, fighting over crayons—and not in this arena, fighting for weapons, life, and sanity.

"Two."

Gabriel managed to make eye contact with Ruby and nodded solemnly, confirming their plan of going into the battle. Especially with the darkness and acid surrounding them from all other sides…. He wanted his old flashlights and headlamps that he worked with in the mines.

"One. Zero."

 _Gong._

Twenty-six children ran for their lives.

Ivyta wove through the gems so fast that she almost physically ran right into Xandir as they met in the middle. Ivyta started grabbing what she could. "Stay out of the way, grab what you can, and be ready to _move_ ," she panted quickly.

The supplies seemed even more abundant than usual; she was trying to prioritize and be practical, but her mind was spinning and tributes were fighting around her, but on her own, not picking a fight, she wasn't as targeted as she thought she would be. She grabbed a large backpack and swung it over her shoulders. She didn't know what was in it, but the quantity had to contain something worthwhile.

There was a large water container nearby; she grabbed it, and then saw a Career girl aiming a double-ended dagger right for her. She ducked, holding the container out instinctually. The first blade flew right into it, sticking, and Ivyta grabbed it out, ditching the emptying water container.

She watched her footsteps carefully but also had to keep her eyes up, keep _everything_ in her sight and it was overwhelming. There wasn't any one thing to focus on. There wasn't a specific predator or prey; it was a free-for-all.

A section in the acid opened. "RUN!" she shouted to Xandir, abandoning what she was about to grab, and they ran, sprinting with light footsteps, close to the ground, out of the Cornucopia area, making it in just enough time to start disappearing into the woods.

.

The section closed behind them and the whole ring moved inward a bit. One of the tributes flung themselves out of the way of a weapon, got caught by an acid-shooting gem, and it burned a whole right through their body, through their stomach, the flesh melting and dripping inwards in a quickly-filling pool of blood.

 _Boom._ Cannon.

There were plenty of other cannons firing as Voltair cursed himself for missing the first section opening. The field smaller, his perception of it skewed, he wasn't sure quite what to do now.

He skirted the edges, eyes darting towards the center of the circle where the Careers fought, deep in battle with stronger tributes. A section opened—as far away from him as it could have been. He ran. It was worth the shot; getting out of here was worth the risk.

He just barely made it, tripping and then steadying himself, the knapsack he'd strung over one shoulder making him sway, an ax in his opposite hand. And then he ran, into woods that reminded him of a nightmarish version of home.

.

Ruby had run for a weapon immediately. The first useful one that she saw, she picked up—a sword with a dagger on the other end. Gabriel had run over to her, already with a sleeping bag pack and a loaf of bread.

Ruby pointed to where a section had just opened up. "Go!" They ran, only to be caught by a Career guarding the exit. The boy went for Gabriel, who was unarmed. Ruby was ready, she thought, had come to a certain peace with killing in defense. But Belle's words of killing only when necessary rang in her head.

She stabbed the boy in the shoulder from behind as Gabriel scrambled back. He screamed in pain as Ruby pulled the weapon out, and Gabriel grabbed Ruby, then ran through the exit, making it with less than a second to spare.

.

Saorise had run for the same ax as Voltair and missed it by a second, her momentum keeping her running a bit too far, Voltair taking off in the opposite direction. The next ax she saw was in the Cornucopia, by a cluster of three Careers. Working up her courage through rage, she ran for it.

She grabbed it before anyone noticed her, but turned to find herself surrounded. Heart racing, she decided to act first. She pounced for the boy on the far left, ax against sword. She fought with the blade and tried to keep the more delicate handle out of the way. She whipped around as she heard the boy from the other side—her district partner—pounce, himself, and whipped around, clubbing him over the head with the side of the blade before she could think about District Two pride. _Boom._ Cannon.

The other Careers seemed to back down a bit as she turned and faced them with her ax still bloody from her partner's head. She sprinted off in between them and escaped that area undisturbed further, seeing a section opened—she knew the odds; escape was better than instant revenge. She grabbed a backpack on her way out at an awkward angle, then ran through the exit, as the ring grew smaller.

She hid in the woods and waited to see where the Careers would go.

.

Len had already grabbed a scythe and a water bottle before Leander reached her. "There's a section open on the other side—we could make it," he gasped out, but she said:

"I'll take down some competition first. You grab stuff. _Duck,_ " she deadpanned, and as he did, she swung at the neck of the boy who had charged Leander from behind. She missed, hitting his head instead; and with the wrong arm, hitting him with the full, metal water bottle instead. He clutched at his head as Leander dove out of the way, and this time, Len swung with the right arm and slit the boy's throat.

 _Boom._ Cannon.

A different section opened. The ring was getting smaller, smaller. "Let's go," said Len, pulling Leander up. They sprinted off.

.

Stitch knew she wasn't from a district that taught good weapon use. So she grabbed something that seemed simple—a slingshot and ammunition, stuck in her pocket, then focused on more survival-based supplies: sleeping bag pack, slung onto her shoulders, a full water container, and a box of crackers that she clutched in the same hand.

She started to run for an exit, skidded to a halt and leaned back as a gem shot acid up in front of her. She stumbled, but threw herself forward to run for the exit again, to get back on her feet.

And she took off into the woods.

.

The ring of acid faded out, gems ceasing to fire, as only the remaining four Careers were left at the Cornucopia, amongst eleven dead bodies littering the ground.

"Let's go see if anyone stayed in the area."


	17. One Last Melody

**Author's Note: Thank you, everyone.**

 **. . . . .**

 **One Last Melody**

 **. . . . .**

No one did stay in the area, not in sight, anyway. Lavender paced along the wall at the head of the table in the Symposium of the Capitol Gamemaking Center. "Eleven kids dead, almost all killed by other kids," she said, after turning the bugs off. "We failed. We were supposed to kill them ourselves, rile the districts against 'us'."

The other (remaining) Gamemakers looked at her. "Maybe it's better we didn't," Thespian said, quiet as he ever was. "Hate ourselves less in the meantime."

Lavender stared at him. "Do you really _think_ ," she started, "that after all those Games, all those dead kids, it'd be possible for me to _stop_ hating myself?"

Thespian didn't argue the point, just stood and hugged her instead.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"It'll be okay, kiddo."

—There was a knock on the door, and they all jumped. Lavender moved away from Thespian and opened the door slowly, cautious. Behind the door stood Galaxy, "Sector Three" Representative, now more of just a Fourteen official.

"Are they off?" _The bugs._

"Yes."

Galaxy entered. "There have been some complications. Maybe you've heard."

"We've been here all day," said Lavender. "We haven't heard anything but the Games."

Galaxy frowned, took a deep breath, and said, "Fourteen plans to execute the victors."

"What victors?" Lavender asked.

" _All of them._ They want to make sure that any tribute who ever entered any arena dies. To show that they have no mercy like the Capitol supposedly does. Even whoever wins these Games."

"Well, fuck." That was Ritter, in the background.

"Can—can they _do_ that?" Trace asked.

"They can, and they're going to."

"How do we stop it?" Lavender cut to the chase.

"I'll find a way. I just wanted to make sure you all knew, and knew that it _is_ going to be stopped." Galaxy left.

Lavender sunk into her seat at the head of the table, face in her hands. "But—but that's against the rules," said Zeely. "The whole point of the Games is that the last person left gets to live. If they execute the victors… there'll be riots. There won't be any _Careers_."

"I know. I _know,_ " said Lavender. "But—"

There came another knock at the door.

"Do they just let fucking anyone in here now?" Francisco snapped at no one.

"Well, they let _me_ in," said Pax Callisto, Deputy of District Fourteen. It was hard to tell what her tone was. She ignored most of the Gamemakers, always a further bad sign to Lavender and said, "Lavender, care to join me for some tea?"

"We're in the middle of the Hunger Games."

"Do you want to join me for tea?" Pax repeated.

Lavender realized that this was non-optional. "I'll be back," she muttered to the others, and followed Pax out of the room.

"Your office?" Pax invited herself.

"Lovely," Lavender said. They went up the elevators, and into Lavender's office on the third floor.

Pax closed the door. "I assume you enjoy lavender tea? I ordered us both some."

Lavender hated this woman on a personal level by now, not just for her cruel politics. "That's fine." She sat at her desk, where a cup of tea was waiting, and thought, _I'm not an idiot._ "Could you get us some honey?" she asked, with her best impersonation of _sweet._

"Certainly." And Pax stuck her head out the door for a moment to call an intern, and Lavender switched the mugs, carefully, quickly, and quietly.

It was only a split second, and it was the biggest mistake Pax Callisto ever made.

She sat at the desk with Lavender and said, "It should be here in just a moment. I like mine without honey." Pax took a sip, and seemed to realize it, and spit the tea out as quickly as she could, but it was too late.

She fell to the floor, her mouth open and becoming covered in red boils, foam frothing at her lip as she choked. She twitched and tremors wracked her, her eyes wild.

"It's a shame, then," Lavender said, in Head Gamemaker-mode, "that I like honey, but not poison."

The intern entered the room and almost fainted upon seeing the scene, dropping the honey bottle to the floor, and dropping to kneel by Pax's side, not out of any great loyalty to Fourteen, Lavender knew, but in shock.

Lavender shook her head and watched as Pax drew her last, gasping breaths, then stopped and stilled, eyes glazing over.

Lavender said to the intern, "I'd call security, if I were you," and went to tell the others what had happened.

.

 _In the arena…_

Len and Leander trekked into the dark woods. Leander let Len have most of the water they allotted for that day, though they didn't have a lot. Len swiped at anything in their way with her scythe.

Leander reflected that it was so eerily _quiet,_ especially after the bloodbath. He was used to running music, which he enjoyed, or commentary when he watched the Games, but the arena was unnaturally quiet. No birds chirping, no insects making sound. Nothing but their footsteps, breathing, and occasionally voices.

He felt so alone, but he had Len by his side, his fiancée, and to him, that was what mattered.

.

Stitch had long since stored her supplies stuffed into the sleeping bag pack—besides the sleeping bag, she had the crackers and the water. But she kept her slingshot out and at the ready, ammo in her pocket.

She loaded it when she felt an odd sensation and couldn't identify it right away under pressure, instantly not trusting it. Then she realized—it was like she was walking uphill. The moss in front of her seemed deeper.

Then she realized, it wasn't getting deeper, it was _moving,_ creeping in a wave a bit away from her, but then it raced forwards and crashed at her feet.

She screamed, reflected that was a bad decision, and turned around and _ran_ , the moss chasing her, sliding as if she were going downhill in an avalanche and forming in little waves, crashing and spreading towards her, then building up again, seemingly seeping in from the ground.

Stitch stumbled over a gem in the ground, and it slowed her enough that the moss hit her feet, and then it began to _crawl up her legs,_ and she was shaking them out and trying to run. She sprinted, and then her foot hit a upward cliff in the ground.

She stumbled forwards again, but her legs were sinking and she clutched at the ground. She realized that it wasn't a little cliff in the ground; it was the edge of a narrow _crevice,_ as she kicked back. Her fingers were slipping because of the moss on the other side of the crevice, but she dug them into the ground, finding rock not far below the surface.

 _This is how I die._

She couldn't hang on. And the crevice went down, down, down, into pitch-blackness. Unless there was something very soft at the bottom, and she didn't hit anything on the way down, and she found a way back up, because there was clearly nothing but darkness down there… this was how she was going to die. She tried to brace her feet against the edge of the crevice where her hands where, but they slipped and slid. The crevice was smooth and slippery.

Stitch expected to be there a while, clinging and fighting for life, but within seconds, her hands gave out and she slid backwards with another scream, bouncing between the rocks and sides of the crevice, blood flying everywhere, bruises forming, Stitch always slipping down, down, down, into the dark, until her skull hit a rock and caved in on her brain, and she felt nothing more, ever again.

.

 _In the Capitol_

As the news spread that Deputy Pax Callisto was dead after trying to poison the Head Gamemaker, Minister Atlas Flint was put under a lot of pressure to choose a new Deputy. It was the middle of the Games; one was surely needed straightaway so that he wouldn't be alone in overseeing the Gamemakers.

(It was unknown that the Deputy had realized that at least Lavender was in on the conspiracy, and decided to take action, herself, before there was a chance for escape.)

And so he chose Galaxy Price. The news rang across Panem.

Galaxy made an excuse to go visit the Gamemakers as soon as she was sworn in. "I have a plan," she said, the bugs turned off again, displaying general chatter to those listening. "I need a broadcast, and I need district citizens in the Capitol. How can we make that happen?"

They discussed options. None of them would work fast enough. They were wasting precious _time_ ; every second that passed, the more of a chance that another tribute would die.

Finally it was Trace who blurted out, "Avoxes!" in the middle of the conversation. It had just occurred to her. "Most are from the districts but they're already here. They're probably the Capitol's main network of rebels."

"Perfect," said Lavender. "Good thinking."

"Put in orders for Avoxes in the audience for the execution ceremony, then; it's going to be broadcasted from all districts with tonight's Games recap, starting with the ones right here in the Capitol, the mentors. But we'll get it stopped in time."

"And if we don't?"

"And if we don't… then, they are necessary sacrifices of war. I'm going to communicate with the Avoxes to give them a signal for when to riot. People won't think much of them attending, if they can't even speak—but we don't need them to."

"Understood."

.

In the arena, the anthem began to play that "night", providing the only sense of time. First it showed the boy from District Two, Saorise's partner, who she had killed. Then, the boy from Three, Ivyta's partner. The girl from Five, Xandir's partner. Both from Six. Then Voltair's partner. Then Stitch, and hers. Both from Ten and Eleven. And then, with a flourish, the music and light was gone.

.

" _Citizens of Panem, today, District Fourteen has made an important decision. They have decided, to show that we have no mercy, that there will be no more victors of the Hunger Games. There will be no past victors of the Hunger Games. All past victors, and all future victors, are going to be executed."_

The Minister spoke into the microphone on the stage set up in the City Circle. The victors that were in the Capitol—Sassy, Aurelia and Evander, Saber and Delora (publically known as "loyal to Fourteen", but not spared, pointed out, in the no-mercy killings), Ella, Antara, Cypress, Keith, Henrik and Ikky, Litiea, Nigel, and Belle—were bound on the stage, at the Minister's gunpoint.

Just like Elara had been.

Galaxy, standing just behind the Minister, who stood behind the victors, gave a hand signal that she herself couldn't see.

And all at once, everything began, and everything ended.

The Avoxes, and several others amongst the crowd, Gamemakers there on an emergency break included, charged the stage, many screaming. Peacekeepers began to fire shots into the chaos, but soon were overcharged, largely outnumbered, guns being taken from them. Those who didn't know what was happening simply tried to run, several not making it out.

Galaxy, meanwhile, had freed victors, who disarmed the Minister, used his gun to shoot him as he tried to run. _Crack._ Gunshot, and the Minister was dead.

The Gamemakers were a force to be reckoned with by recognition alone, and soon emerged at the front of the crowd, onto the stage, quickly un-restraining victors along with Galaxy.

At this point, the Peacekeepers became confused, seeing the Gamemakers take the opposite side of the Capitol. The victors that became unrestrained surged into the crowd, being handed weapons by Avoxes, as the victors had more knowledge of them, and they began taking down the Peacekeepers who resisted.

Soon, the crowd consisted of dead bodies lying on the ground—the Minister, Peacekeepers, and unfortunate citizens. Three victors who had survived the arena had not survived the charge—Litiea, Keith, and Sassy, lying with fatal gunshot wounds on the ground amongst the fallen. Alive were Avoxes, the Gamemakers, Galaxy, and some select Capitol citizens.

Lavender helped Galaxy to the microphone, speaking to the country, as she said, "The Minister has fallen, and I, his Deputy, am now the Minister of District Fourteen, leader of the State, the Capitol, the districts, and all of Panem. I have sided myself with the Gamemakers and the revolution."

She paused. "I appoint Lavender my Deputy, and the other 'Gamemakers' as my advisors, because there is no more need for Gamemakers. There will be no more Hunger Games, and those tributes currently in the arena will all be rescued in a small matter of time. The Games were cruel. They didn't target the rebels who the Capitol was trying to get back at. They targeted young and innocent children. Today, Fourteen takes over Panem, as we always knew we would. But not the traitors who were our rulers for too long, who went back on our values and supported those wretched Games. Today, the true, loyal citizens of District Fourteen, of all of Panem, take Panem for their own."

.

No one in the arena had any idea that something had happened as the "nighttime" began. Not until, at least, a voice came over the speakers in the force field. It was Thespian's.

"Tributes, or should I say, victors, the Games have now ended." He gave a quick rundown of everything that had happened, much to everyone's shock. Many weren't sure what to do. He concluded with, "Please gather at the Cornucopia for rescue. Thank you." And the speakers clicked off.

No one was ready to celebrate just yet. There were too many things to take care of.

Ivyta and Xandir, and Ruby and Gabriel, ran through the now relatively danger-free arena as quickly as they could for the Cornucopia, ditching supplies, clinging to their allies. _They did it,_ thought Ruby and Gabriel.

 _It's a miracle,_ thought Ivyta and Xandir.

Some of the others were not nearly so pleased.

Len, in fact, _panicked._ She couldn't live this lie with Leander for the rest of her life. And she couldn't tell him the truth—the Games might be over, but he'd still make sure that she ended up dead, or in prison, or in an asylum, somewhere where she essentially could never do anything again.

They were headed for the Cornucopia. "We did it, _you_ did it, Len, the Games are over and we're both going home!" he shouted triumphantly into the woods. The shout attracted another tribute, Voltair, who still brandished his ax for the purposes of woods safety, as he thought of it.

He decided that now, there was safety in numbers, and he headed towards the voices he heard.

Len wasn't sure what to _do._ Her heart raced and she couldn't quite breathe. She couldn't live this lie; she couldn't let the truth get out. She had to get rid of Leander. She was going to in the first place, that had always been her plan, and now, despite everything changing against the odds, it was time to carry it out.

Walking a bit behind him, she stabbed her scythe into his back.

There was a cannon, surprising her.

Then she heard another voice, and almost jumped out of her skin.

"You—you killed him!" gasped the boy from District Seven.

 _Oh, no. No no no no no._

"You had no reason to; he didn't hurt you, he was your fiancé and the Games are over!"

This boy had seen what had happened clearly. Now, Len had to kill him, too. She yanked her scythe out of Leander, and brandished it at the boy. He ran for her with his ax as she pounced towards him, and swung. She ducked; he swung again and again and she swung with her scythe, until she was pinned against a tree, and she jabbed out her scythe at the same time that the boy jabbed out his ax.

The weapons sliced through both of their hearts.

Voltair Kalitlin and Marlene Eszes fell to the ground, dead, alongside Leander Beattie. _Boom, boom._ Cannon, cannon.

.

The fighting wasn't done yet. At the Cornucopia, Saorise stayed hidden among the trees and watched the Careers and Capitol kids already gathered. They didn't _deserve_ to be rescued. They were the Capitol's—well, District Fourteen's?—lapdogs, and they had tried to kill her, and had, in mass, bullied her and her family for generations. And the Capitol children themselves had cheered on the killers forever.

They needed to die, she thought. She was going to be better, was going to outsmart them, and was going to be a deserving victor.

Not them.

She snuck around the other side of the Cornucopia and traded her own ax for several knives.

The Careers and Capitol tributes sat opposite the pair from Twelve, and the girl from Three, the boy from Five.

Saorise gestured for the outer district tributes to be quiet and then planted the knives in the backs of all of the Careers and the two Capitol tributes, too quick in succession for them to warn each other, some simultaneous.

They hadn't realized they were such targets.

The four Careers remaining fell to the ground, four cannons, and the two Capitol children, two cannons.

The outer district kids, who didn't know her intentions, panicked. "She's still out to kill us!" cried Ruby, and they grabbed up weapons, surrounded Saorise, and killed her before she could explain, all of them defending each other.

Blood leaked from her multiple stab wounds as they threw the weapons to the side; the cannons had alerted them that they were all that was left, and they were in a truce. Ruby, Gabriel, Ivyta, and Xandir. The four victors of the last Hunger Games.

A hovercraft appeared overhead and started to sink down, a ladder dropping down, and the four boarded, terrified, knowing what had happened the last time they got on a hovercraft, and when the "victors" of the last Games had.

But this was a chance they had to take. To get out of the arena's hell, they had to risk facing whatever was waiting for them in the new world outside of it.

.

What was waiting for them were there families and friends, as they were brought straight home to their districts, one at a time for Ivyta and Xandir, and then Ruby and Gabriel both to Twelve.

They were all uninjured, and the post-Games ceremonies weren't going to happen with all of the chaos. Everything had been explained on a broadcast to all of Panem, and now, the remaining victors were safe, being sent home as well.

Everyone, in one way or another, went home.

.

The new regime brought prosperity to Panem. No more Games, no more cruelty. District Fourteen integrated with the Capitol, in terms of physical population. There were, again, the Capitol and twelve districts, led by President—taking the old name—Galaxy, and new Vice President Lavender.

There were no more Games, and the districts were wealthy as the Capitol shared their bounty.

Too many had been lost. Now, those who remained all clung to each other as they screamed themselves awake at night—because, of course, the memories and ghosts of the past remained.

But there was peace, after centuries of war, love, after centuries of hate, and happiness, after centuries of sorrow. There were celebrations to be had, and games to be played.

And there were _much_ worse games to play.

 **END OF BOOK THREE**

 **END OF SERIES**


End file.
